


Do No Harm

by NoMomImTotallyNotReadingPorn



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Complete, Getting Together, M/M, but rest assured nobody dies and everyone lives, unsafe bicycling habits, usual warnings for works in a hospital setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 03:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21451453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMomImTotallyNotReadingPorn/pseuds/NoMomImTotallyNotReadingPorn
Summary: Dr Nate Fick, surgeon at Mathilda hospital, has many problems. There's his idiot of a boss. There's the fact that the coffee from the cafeteria should be classified as chemical hazard. And there's Brad Colbert, nurse.12 days in the ER of Mathilda hospital.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick
Comments: 16
Kudos: 154





	Do No Harm

**Author's Note:**

> None of this would have happened without the support and advice of streetsuss_serenade and charlesanthonybruno. thanks, guys. 
> 
> Based on the characters in the series. 
> 
> And you might realize this pretty quickly, but this is not an accurate portrayal of the American health care system. Or medicine in general.

DAY 1

The usual chaos awaits Nate when he steps into the ER. Screaming toddlers in the waiting room, nurses and other medical personnel hastily walking down the hallways, and in the middle of the storm, unmoved, Mike, the Head Nurse. 

Nate takes a quick look at the patient board - nothing too urgent happened during the previous shift, from the looks of it. He nods at Mike. 

“Good shift?”

Mike just grunts and lifts his cup of coffee in reply. “Nothing we haven’t seen before.” He hesitates for a moment, and this is so uncharacteristic for him that Nate stops as well. 

“Anything else, Mike?” 

Mike puts his coffee cup on a staple of patient files, and leads them down the hallway to the ambulance bay. 

A quiet sense of dread starts to fill Nate. Whatever it is unsettled Mike enough to seek some privacy before telling Nate. Nate’s mind starts racing, trying to find out what he could have done wrong. 

One problem with being a doctor is that so many things could go wrong, and all of them would be his fault. 

Mike sits down on a bench just outside the door and motions Nate to sit down as well. Nate does as he’s told. 

Hesitantly, Mike speaks up. “You remember Mrs. Morillas?” 

Nate’s mind comes to a halt. “The lady that was brought in with heart arrhythmia? My shift ended before the tests came back.” He hopes he doesn’t sound defensive. 

Mike nods. “Well, turns out your initial suspicion was right. She had a cardiac arrest two hours ago. We managed to stabilize her though.”

Nate nods, still unsure where this is going. If this was a normal patient handover, they’d have done it in front of the board, and it would have been the doctor on duty to inform him, not Mike. 

“Schwetje was on duty last night, wasn’t he.” Nate says, and Mike’s face tells him he hit the jackpot. 

“We couldn’t find him on time.” Mike says, quietly, and all of a sudden, Nate knows exactly what this is about. 

“How did you stabilize her.” he says, as quiet, watching the parking bay. Everything is quiet, but Nate knows that something will happen soon. Something always does. 

“Brad was there.” Mike says. “He tried to help as much as he could, but there’s not much he can do, being a nurse and all.” 

Nate wants to object, but he knows what Mike means. Nurses are invaluable, but they are also not doctors, with all that entails. 

“What did he do, Mike?” Nate asks gently, even though he knows the answer and the question that will follow. 

“He did the right thing.” Mike’s voice is firm. “He gave her amidorane, conducted CPR and saved her life.” 

Of those three, Brad, being a nurse, was legally allowed to do two. 

Nate shakes his head. “What does the file say?” If Schwetje wasn’t there, they needed another doctor to authorize the drug usage. 

“Nothing so far.” Which means that any observant reader of the file would be able to immediately guess that Brad went beyond his powers, saving a life, but also opening them up to all kinds of lawsuits. Not to mention that this was cause for immediate dismissal. 

Nate sighs. “What’s your story, then?”

Mike smiles, but it’s not a happy one. “You came in early, just when the cardiac arrest happened. Stepped in immediately, did the right thing, saved a life before even changing your clothes.” 

It’s not a good story, but if working for a year at Mathilda has taught Nate anything, it’s that no story is too improbable. Stranger things have already happened. 

There’s one last thing, though. 

“Why are you asking me, and not Brad?” He’s saving Brad’s ass here, after all. It’s not that Nate hesitates - Brad did the right thing, and if anyone should be written up, it’s Schwetje. But he thought him and Brad had a good enough working relationship. 

Mike smiles, and this time, it’s a real one. “You know Brad. He’d rather gnaw his leg off than ask you for this. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch.” 

Just then, Nate hears sirens coming down Pendleton Ave, clearly heading their direction. He gets up from the bench, seeing that Mike is doing the same. Mike’s phone rings, and he picks it up. He listens, then hangs up before turning to speak to Nate. 

“Okay, we got incoming. Open chest wound, bleeding heavily. I’ll get the trauma room ready.” He dashes off. 

At the last second, Nate shouts after him: “Remind me I need to sign those papers!” Mike turns, while walking, smiles, and disappears down the hallway. 

Nate turns around. There’s an ambulance racing down the driveway, sirens blaring. With a deep breath, Nate puts the conversation he just had away. He’ll think about it later, but he has made his decision and he’ll stick to it. It’s the right thing to do. 

The ambulance comes to a screeching halt, and the back doors open. There’s a flurry of movement. Nate always loves this part - the confusion, the pressure, the basic fact that a life depends on him. 

The stretcher gets pushed out, and Nate steps closer. It doesn’t look pretty.

“Female, in her 40s, bleeding chest wound. Stable, but DNR orders. Did the best I could.” The EMT says, and Nate smiles. 

“Hey, Walt. Didn’t know you were on shift today.” 

The EMT smiles, and it makes him look even younger. “First late shift of 3, and I already had to confiscate three coffees.” 

Looking at the patient, Nate laughs, when a new voice interrupts him. “Which was totally unfair. Like, how am I supposed to drive this thing without caffeine? Do you know what you’re doing to your Ray-Ray, Walt? Sometimes I think you’re not caring about me at all.” 

“Walt, I can’t help you here. I gotta go.” Nate takes the papers Walt hands him. Some nurses have appeared, and are pushing the stretcher towards the ER. The last thing Nate hears before stepping inside the hospital is a screeched “Did you get blood on my ambulance?”

Nate smiles. All will be good. 

Two testy hours later, Nate finds himself in the staff changing room. He didn’t have time to change before the conversation with Mike, which means that his new chinos are now caked with blood. 

Nate eyes them warily, trying to gauge if they are salvageable. 

“You should throw them out. They look atrocious, anyway. That lady did you a favor.” Nate turns around, holding the trousers out in front of him.

Brad is leaning against the lockers, and is smiling at Nate. Even tired, Brad looks beautiful, and Nate suddenly realizes he’s wearing nothing but his underwear. 

Nate takes a deep breath and tries to focus. “Not sure people would usually describe ‘bleeding to death’ as doing someone a favour, Brad.” 

Brad scoffs and rolls his eyes, conveying his dislike of the entire human race. He holds out his hand, and Nate realizes he’s holding a pair of scrubs trousers. The dark blue ones, even.

Nate takes them, and Brad snatches his chinos out of his hands. 

“Don’t worry about these, Nate. I’ll take care of them.” Brad rolls Nate’s bloodied trousers up in a ball, and Nate knows for certain that he will never see them again. And he just bought them last weekend. 

Instead of protesting, he puts the scrubs on. “Where did you get those? I thought we were stuck with the light green ones.” 

The scrubs colors were a source of contempt around the ER, ever since the hospital (aka Schwetje) made the executive description to change their supplier. Apparently, the new one was cheaper, but then, things tend not to be expensive if they are not well-made. So the old scrubs immediately became coveted objects - some members of staff managed to hoard some to last them through bad days. 

“I have my sources.” Brad’s voice is not giving anything away, and Nate shrugs. If he gets a pair of comfy scrubs out of it, he’s fine with it. 

There’s a moment of silence before Brad speaks. “Mike told me you agreed.”

Nate looks at him, and finds Brad staring right back at him. Nate nods, not breaking eye contact. 

“I did the right thing.” Brad says, voice insistent, and Nate sees how much this fact matters to him. 

“I know.” Nate says, quietly. “I wouldn’t do it if you hadn’t.” 

Brad looks at him for a second longer, his gaze searching Nate’s face. Nate forces himself to hold still, to look back at Brad without hesitation. After a moment, Brad nods and walks away. 

Nate is left in the empty staff room, wondering what just happened. 

____

It was a feeling Nate was familiar with when it came to dealing with Brad. 

He remembers the first time he’d seen Brad - really seen Brad. It must have been a couple of weeks after Nate had started at Mathilda General. 

He’d heard the rumours about Brad, of course. Who hadn’t. Brad never sleeps. Brad can feel when a patient is dropping. Brad knows things before they happen. Brad can see in the dark. 

Nate had heard the rumors, and dismissed them. Sure, Brad was competent - they worked together a lot during those first few weeks, and Nate knew competency when he saw it. Everything Brad did was done with a purpose, with exact knowledge. 

In Nate’s opinion, Brad didn’t need the rumours. He was good enough without them. 

Then came the fire in the apartment high rise on 27th and Main. Within seconds, the ER was swamped with patients, some of them barely hurt, some of them dead on arrival. It was mayhem, and the duty nurse, Griego, was fluffing. People were running around like headless chickens, family members of the patients were walking around the ER, trying to find their loved ones, they were running out of sterile gauze. It was chaos.

Until Brad arrived. Nate was there when Brad walked into the ER and saw him taking charge. It was beautiful. And all of a sudden, the uncontrolled mayhem turned into something they were in control of. 

Brad took Griego’s phone, told security to round up the family members and keep them away from the trauma rooms, ranked incoming casualties on a color-basis (red-yellow-green), then did the same to the people waiting in the waiting room. 

The ER went from barely coping to mastering the challenge, and Nate knew that this was all down to Brad. Who made it look downright easy. 

Perhaps the rumours were true, after all. 

_____

Two familiar figures are waiting for him in the hallway outside the staff changing room, deep in conversation. 

“I am telling you, Walt. It’s cancer.”

“It’s not cancer.” 

“How would you know?” The wiry dark-haired guy pokes Walt in his shoulder. “You’re not a doctor!”

Walt, instead of rising to the bait, smiles down at Ray. They make an odd pair, Nate thinks. Opposites in every way. One blond, calm and kind, the other one dark-haired and constantly running his mouth off. 

“Hey doc.” Walt smiles easily, as he always does. He must see a lot of shit in his job as an EMT nurse, Nate supposes - not like Nate doesn’t see a lot of shit, but at least it’s within the four walls of a hospital. It gives the madness a different context.

Before Nate can react, Ray steps in his path, eyes large and pleading. “Doc. I think it’s serious this time.” 

“Last time you thought it was serious it was a molten chocolate chip on your leg, Ray.” Walt interjects, laughing. 

“I swear this time it’s real!” Ray says, and Nate nods at him to continue. It might be nothing, but it could be something. 

Ray turns around and takes his shirt off. Nate looks at Walt, surprised, but Walt just shrugs and motions at Nate to continue. 

“Um. Ray. We could have gone to a treatment room for that.” Nate says, suddenly viscerally aware of the people passing - and looking at them in the hallway. Ray doesn’t care, and instead points at something on his back. 

“See that, doc? I can feel it, and I’m sure it’s bad.” His body contorts in ways that should probably not be physically possible. 

Nate steps closer and tells him to stand still. Immediately, Ray freezes, his body still contorted. 

“Just stand up straight.” Nate says, amused. Ray snaps to attention, but Nate can feel his muscles tensing. Walt might take this lightly, but Ray doesn’t. 

Nate touches Ray’s back. “You mean this?” He pokes a bit. 

Ray looks over his shoulder. “Yes, doc. How bad is it?” Nate can feel the speed of Ray’s pulse quickening, and decides not to draw this out. 

“Ray.” he says, voice even and calm. “It’s a pimple.”

Walt lets out a laugh and the tension in Ray’s back disappears immediately. 

“You sure?” he asks, trying to get a look at his own back. 

“Yes, Ray. I am familiar with what a pimple is.” 

“Liar. That face of yours has never known anything but dermatological perfection.” Ray says, waving his shirt around. “Can you pop it?”

Nate’s brain stutters, but he’s saved by a stern voice behind him. 

“Ray, I will not ask what you are doing half-naked in a public space, because that seems to be modus operandi for you. From you two, however, I expected better.” 

Nate turns and comes to face with Brad, who looks at them, and Nate suddenly realizes what a picture the three of them must give. 

“I thought I told you better than to enable him, Walt.” Walt just shrugs and turns around to help Ray, who seems to be stuck in his shirt, judging by the way his hands wave around helplessly in the air. 

“And I know that that degree of yours means you were brainwashed into believing that you are, if not the personification of Jesus, at least allowed to dispense your medical advice to every troglodyte who happens to pass your way and takes your word as gospel, but I can assure you that this particular imbecile is beyond saving, Nate.” 

Ray makes sounds of protest, but any credibility he might have is undercut by the fact that Walt is currently helping him find the correct hole for his right arm. 

Nate just shrugs. This is not an argument he is likely to win, anyway. Instead, he turns to Brad. “Who am I with today?” He hadn’t had a chance to look at the allocation board.

Brad smiles beautifully and hands him a folder. “You’re lucky. You got me.”

Behind them, Ray is making a sound of triumph, but Nate is busy reading the file of his next patient. He starts walking to the patient room, and hears Brad following him. 

“Take care, Walt.” Nate says. 

“You too, doc!”

“Hey, what about me?” Ray says.

Brad speaks up. “Walt, keep him alive.” Ray makes a sound of protest, but it is drowned out by Walt’s answer. “I’ll do my best.”

Nate shouldn’t have favourites when it comes to the nurses he works with, but if he were to be honest, Brad would absolutely be his first pick. Working with him is easy. 

DAY 2

The main reason Ray became an EMT was definitely not the pay. It wasn’t even a desire to help people. No, the reason why Ray became a paramedic were, quite simply, the sirens. 

Because the sirens made him a God on the streets, invulnerable to traffic lights, tickets, and speed restrictions. People moved out of the way for him, turning the streets into a gigantic race zone. 

So yes, life was good when the sirens were on. It was the ultimate race - him against Death. It even made up for the fact that he had to create the music himself, as the ambulance only had a dispatcher radio.

“Ray, could you please, please just stop it with ABBA?” Walt says from the passenger’s seat. “I thought we left this phase behind us for good.” Walt sighs, which makes him look like a sad puppy, which was adorable. Walt, in general, is adorable, Ray has to say. 

“You don’t understand, Walter.” Ray says, looking out at the parking lot. It had been a slow day, and they are waiting for the next call over dispatch to come in and order them away. There is nowhere to be, and Ray wonders if he can convince Walt to get them some coffee.

“You cannot be sad while listening to ABBA, you see-”

The radio crackles and Walt shushes him. Ray rolls his eyes, but listens, starting the engine before the dispatch had finished. 

“Cut off finger. Nice.” Ray says, rushing down the main street. It isn’t busy, and there is no reason to use the sirens. Yet. 

“But I tell you, I’ve only just got the last bit of blood from yesterday out of my ambulance.” He pats the dashboard. “Let’s try to not sully her today, okay?” 

“Ray, I will do my very best to keep your vehicle clean.” Walt says, sarcasm clear in his words. “Because that, not the patient’s survival, is my absolute priority.”

“Good. Glad we sorted that.” Ray answers while waving the ambulance through traffic. “I’m not staying longer today just to clean the back again. I have a date.” 

“Ray, I am sure if you’re late to the date, your date will be late as well. Seeing that I am your date, and I will help you clean it up.” Walt smiles. “Besides, playing XBox and ordering pizza is not really a date.” 

“That’s where you are wrong, Walter. It’s the best kind of date.” 

“And they say romance is dead.” Walt says, holding onto the door handle and looking out the windshield. 

It had worried Ray at first, that thing with Walt. Not the thing with Walt, per se, but the whole working-with-Walt-and-also-sleeping-with-Walt thing. It was just that he likes working with Walt, so he couldn’t really change jobs. And he also really, really liked sleeping with Walt, so giving that up was not an option at all. 

Turns out it worked out fine. Most of the time. Sometimes they are on different shifts, which sucks, because that means they don’t get to see each other for days at a time. But that also means that they can catch a break from each other if they needed. 

In the end, Ray thinks as he parks the ambulance in front of an unassuming two-story house, things could be a lot worse. For starters and unlike the guy waiting for them at the curb, he still has all ten of his fingers. 

Walt jogs up to him immediately, and Ray follows after bringing the backpack with the emergency kit from the back. 

Turns out the guy might not know how to handle a band saw, but he knows how to react in an emergency. Ray could see a container full of ice next to the guy, and in it, to his delight, the finger. 

Ray shakes the container, gently, amazed at what people can do when they are in shock. He’s seen it before - vegan hipsters who normally would refuse to so much as look at minced meat could pick up their own digits and take care of it. Pretty cool, the human body. Also pretty fucked up. 

Ray turns around to Walt and the guy, container with the finger on the rocks still in his hand. The rationality of the shock hasn’t stopped in freezing his finger - the guy also put paper towels on his injured hand, which is still in a glove. 

Without hesitation, Ray pulls a bunch of gauze out of his backpack and hands it to Walt, who takes it without looking. They are a good team.

Walt’s holding the guy’s hand, looking at the wound. “It’s clear cut, you were lucky.” 

The guy just grunts and says “That’s why I had to call you guys. Because of all this luck.” 

Ray cannot help but laugh. You never know what you get in this job, but sometimes, the patients are pretty great. 

“Well, you did the right thing with the ice.” Walt says as he’s putting gauze on the hand. “We might be able to save it. If my colleague doesn’t drop the box, that is.” 

Ray rolls his eyes. As if. 

The patient just laughs again. “Not a big deal. It’s not a finger I use a lot, you see.” He laughs again, and Ray joins him. As far as patients go, this one is pretty good. 

Their luck runs out when they get to the hospital. Ray had hoped that Nate would be there - he always hopes that Nate is there, despite Walt’s insistence that Nate cannot work 24/7, no matter how much they all want him to. 

Instead, it’s Encino Man waiting at the ambulance bay, with a murderous-looking Brad. The murderous look could come from either Encino Man’s presence or Nate’s absence, but neither is a topic that Ray can talk about safely right now, so he ignores it and instead gives them the run-down on the patient, who is still holding his container in his uninjured hand. 

They roll the stretcher into the ER room and Ray decides to stick around. Brad and Encino Man always make for a great combination, and he might be needed as Brad’s witness in the murder trial. Judging from the looks Brad shoots at Encino Man’s back, someone will die in this room tonight and it won’t be the patient. 

Encino Man turns around with gigantic trauma shears in his hands. Ray had joked before that the sight of the shears give you a trauma. They are huge, definitely not your average household scissors, and look plain mean. 

“Woa-” Brad says, stepping between Encino Man - who is actually, honest to God, clipping the scissors - and the patient, who looks super freaked out right now. Ray can understand his reaction. 

“What are you doing?” Brad asks, and makes no effort to hide the disdain in his voice. There’s a joke that working with Encino Man mostly means protecting the patient from the doctor, and Ray has been around long enough to know that this is true. No idea where this guy got his medical degree, but he sure as hell didn’t get any common sense with it, either.

“I need access to the hand, Colbert.” Their saving grace is that Encino Man is genetically unable to express any emotions. If his voice had a trace of condescension in it, Brad would have killed him.

“I don’t think that will be necessary” Brad says, turning to the patient, who’s been staring at the shears for a while now. Carefully, Brad helps him out of his jacket. Ray steps in to lend a hand, taking the jacket, helping him out of his sweatshirt and rolling the coveralls down. 

Disappointed, Encino Man turns around to put the shears back to the sideboard. Brad starts an IV on the patient. 

“See that?” Brad asks. “We’ll have to see if the surgeons can save your finger, but at least we were able to save your jacket, sweatshirt and coveralls.”

Without looking up, Ray says: “And one glove.” 

“Shut up, Ray.” 

___

Ray tells Mike Encino Man is looking for him, and Mike is smart enough to know that this cannot be good. In his 12 years as the head Nurse of the ER, Mike’s bullshit detector has become pretty good. Not that it would take a lot of expertise to know to avoid Schwetje as much as possible. A bit of common sense would do. 

But Mike also knows that things can only be avoided for so long, and this particular problem won’t go away, no matter how many times Poke threatens to snitch Schwetje out to the Medical Board everytime Encino Man comes even close to the surgical rooms. 

And so Mike steels himself with a good cup of coffee from the place down the street. Ordinary cafeteria swell will not do for the upcoming conversation. 

Finding Schwetje isn’t hard - he usually hangs around in the doctor’s lounge. He could be making rounds, Mike thinks as he sees Schwetje lounging on the couch, watching TV. He sighs. No need to get annoyed just yet. 

“You wanted to see me?” Mike says, stepping up behind Schwetje and forcing him to sit up and turn around to face him. 

“Oh yes, Wynn.” Schwetje says, and his forehead scrunches. “I was hoping to see you earlier.” 

Mike pushes down the annoyance. Not yet. “Well, it was a busy day.” He lets it hang in the air, hoping against better judgement that Encino Man will understand it for the dig it is. 

“I was hoping you could help me with something.” Encino Man says, standing up. 

Mike can feel cold sweat breaking out. This sounds ominous. Normally, he’d say that Encino Man can’t know about the plot to save Brad’s ass, but who knows. Stranger things have happened. 

“Well, what is this about?” Mike says, keeping his voice even. 

Encino Man comes closer, until there’s barely any room left between the two men. For a wild second, Mike thinks he’s getting a kiss, but instead, Encino Man starts whispering in his ear. 

“This is confidential.” 

Mike takes a step back. “Well, it seems like we’re the only two people in this room.”

Encino Man whispers again. “I need your professional opinion on something.”

Mike starts a headache coming on. This will be very stupid, he can tell already. He waves at Encino Man to continue. 

“I was treating a patient with Nurse Colbert today, and he behaved in the most unprofessional way.” 

It takes a second for the words to register, and when they do, Mike has to blink away his surprise. 

“Brad?” Encino Man nods. 

“Brad behaved unprofessionally?” Mike repeats, unbelieving. This is Brad they are talking about. Brad, who volunteers when they need someone to do an extra shift. Brad who crosses all the ts and dots all the is. Brad, who is never behind on his paperwork.

“Yes. I am thinking of filing an official complaint, and I was wondering if you would support my case.” 

“Well… what did he do?” Mike says, to buy time, still reeling about the fact that Encino Man would pick a fight with Brad, of all people. Doesn’t he understand that Brad is universally admired? If this complaint goes through, Mike is facing a mutiny. 

In his mind, he can already see a half-naked Ray Person with facial paint, standing on a stretcher, rolling down the hallway, waving scrubs as a flag, screaming ‘Revolution!’ 

“I was trying to cut a patient’s clothes today, to get better access to his wound.” Encino Man says, oblivious to Mike’s inner turmoil. 

“Is that the guy with the finger?” Mike interjects, trying to piece the story together. Brad hadn’t mentioned any particular incident when he handed over the file before ending his shift. For all Mike knows, things went as well as they could when Brad and Schwetje worked together.

Encino Man nods. “Yes, and when I tried to get a better look at the wound, Brad interrupted me. It completely ruined my professional stance.”

Mike pinches the bridge of his nose. He will need a beer after this. “So Brad kept you from… cutting the guy’s clothes off?”

Encino Man nods. 

“But he was still able to get the guy out of his jacket?” Again, a nod. Mike stares at Encino Man, willing him to understand. 

“So… what you wanted to do wasn’t necessary at all?” 

“That’s not the point, Mike!” Encino Man yells. “I gave him an order, and he didn’t follow it.”

“Well… Brad’s not your servant, you know that.” The second he says it, Mike understands what a mistake he’s made.  
“He’s a nurse. He needs to follow orders from doctors.” Encino Man says petulantly. “It’s frankly disturbing that he would refuse to do as I say.” 

Mike takes a deep breath. “See, here’s the thing, Craig.” He steps closer to the other man. “Brad doesn’t have to do what you say. He’s a damn good nurse, and you would be well advised to listen to his advice.”

Encino Man scoffs, but Mike continues. “But I do see that your professional relationship has become untenable. So for the next few weeks, I will make sure you’re not on rotation with him. Are you okay with that?”

Encino Man thinks for a second, then nods. “Yes, Mike, that’s actually a good idea.”

Mike nodes and leaves the doctor’s lounge, not sure who he saved from whom, but absolutely certain that he doesn’t make enough money for this bullshit. 

DAY 3

Nate’s phone wakes him with a text alert rather than his usual alarm, and he reaches for it, grunting. There’s never enough sleep to go around, especially not when he’s on late shifts, but he tries to make do. Everyone around him at work has the same issue, so complaining won’t help him.

The message makes his heart race. 

Heads up - brass wants to speak to you. 

No sign off, unknown number, but it doesn’t take more than a guess who this is. He has Mike on speed dial, and Ray’s messages tend to run long and include emojis. Walt signs off with his name. But Nate has never exchanged numbers with Brad. Or so he thought.

He sighs. It’s not completely unexpected - he figured something like this might be happening. The story was simply too good to be believed, too convenient. 

Still, Nate tells himself as he’s brushing his teeth and looking at himself in the mirror. It was the right thing to do. Also, a small voice says, lying is worth it if it means saving Brad’s job. It’s not like Brad killed the woman. He saved her life. 

That’s his mantra all the way to the hospital. Brad did the right thing. Brad saved her life.  
Brad… is waiting for him by the hospital back entrance. Nate sighs, chains his bike to a railing right below a security camera. Losing one bike to thieves was enough. 

“Where’s your helmet?” Brad asks without preamble, and this is such an unexpected question that Nate is thrown for a second. 

“Are you my mom?” He finally says. 

Brad seems unruffled. “One might think that you’ve seen enough remains of squished bikers in the ER to even contemplate riding one, but apparently there’s not a lot of brain to be saved by a helmet if you seriously think riding a bike in the city without one is a good idea.” 

Nate sighs. “I know, Brad. We’ve had this discussion.” They’ve had it every single time Brad saw Nate riding his bicycle. In fact. Brad had a point - bike vs. car accidents never ended pretty, but still. 

Brad just stares at him, and Nate raises his eyebrow. “I forgot my helmet at work yesterday, okay?”

Brad doesn’t seem to be convinced. “Get a second one, then. That’s the least you can do.” Nate hums, because there’s really not a lot he can say against it. 

He starts walking towards the hospital entrance, but Brad holds him back. There’s a beat of silence before he speaks up. 

“They want to see you as soon as you’re in.” Brad looks at Nate, and Nate holds his gaze. 

“I know. Don’t worry. I got your back.” 

Brad stares for a beat longer, and then, finally, speaks up. “You don’t have to do this, Nate.” 

“But I want to.” Nate can be stubborn as well, and he won’t change his story now. Brad did the right thing. Brad saved a life. 

Brad nods. “Thanks, Nate.” He softly puts his hand on Nate’s shoulder, a stroke more than a clap. Before Nate can register what’s going on, Brad pulls his hand back. 

Nate can feel the touch all the way to the Director’s office. 

____

The meeting, when it happens, is a let down. It is as Nate expected - the powers that be don’t want a problem, they want to cover their bases and make sure they are not getting in trouble. That’s why there’s a total of five attendees to the meeting: Nate, Schwetje in his role as Nate’s boss, Godfather, as the Head Doctor of Mathilda Hospital, an HR representative who takes notes, and a lawyer, who doesn’t. 

It’s over in ten minutes, after Nate assured them that yes, he was there, and yes, he gave Brad the order to issue the drug to the patient. 

“Well done, Nathaniel.” Godfather rasps in his deep voice. “Even though now we’re stuck with her hospital bill.” He laughs, and Schwetje’s the only one to join him. 

“We should put that Colbert on the list of Nurse of the Year.” Godfather continues, and the HR lady makes another note on her pad. “Might give him an incentive to stay. God knows Pendleton Central was sniffing around, trying to recruit him.” 

That information places a deep sense of dread in Nate, but he files it away for later. He doesn’t have time to ponder why the thought of Brad leaving the hospital alarms him so much. 

Godfather continues. “Good job, everybody. Let’s get back to our real job.”

The lawyer chimes in for the first time since the meeting started. “You will need to sign the meeting minutes. I aim to get them circulated by the end of today.” 

Nate just nods, glad to have gotten off like this and at the same time, a bit disturbed by how easy it was. But over all, the news that Brad might be leaving hangs over him. 

It doesn’t surprise him, not exactly - Brad is a great nurse, and Pendleton is known for better salaries. It would only be logical for Brad to leave. But - and the sense of dread in Nate’s stomach intensifies - he doesn’t want Brad to leave. Simple as that. 

He walks out of the meeting room by rote, not realizing someone was waiting for him until Mike calls out his name, clearly not for the first time. 

The sight of his friend makes Nate smile. 

“All good, kid?” Mike asks, voice full of concern. 

“Yeah. I just need to sign the meeting minutes, then we’re good.” Nate says. 

Mike narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to figure out how much of a lie that is, but doesn’t say anything, for which Nate is grateful. He simply nods. “Well done, kiddo.” 

______

“You know, legend has it-”

“Oh my God, Ray.”

“Legend has it that -”

“There is no legend, you just started saying that so that people would believe you.”

“Let me speak, Walter.”

“Fine, Raymond.”

“Legend has it that Brad isn’t even a properly trained nurse. He showed up in the ER one day with a broken ankle, witnessed the chaos and general lack of competence and decided to take matters into his own hands.”

“Ray.”

“He saved five people that day.”

“Ray, that’s ridiculous.”

“Including a baby!”

“See, this is why I’m not giving you any coffee.”

“Walt. He might not be the hero we deserve. But he is the hero we need.”

DAY 4

“Just pull it out. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’m not going to pull it out.”

“I’m telling you, it’s the only way.”

“Even if I wanted, there’s no way I can pull it out.”

“Just be careful, it’ll be okay.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“Okay, now what the fuck are you two talking about?” Mike says as he steps into the consultation room. 

Brad and Nate jump apart, looking nervous, and that more than anything tells Mike there’s something going on here. 

Brad looks at Nate, and Mike thinks he should have picked an earlier date in the ‘When are those two finally getting their shit together’ betting pool that Ray Person manages. There’s no way they are keeping this up until Christmas. 

Nate finally speaks up. “It’s not what it sounds like.” 

Mike scoffs. “I sure hope so, otherwise I’d have to have a conversation with both of you about what’s appropriate workplace behaviour. I had three of those with Ray Person last month, so please do me a favour and save me from having to go over the presentation again.” 

Nate nods, but doesn’t speak up. Finally, Brad points at the X-Ray hanging at the wall. 

“Nate and I were discussing the treatment options for the fine young gentleman in treating room 3C.”

Mike steps closer to the illuminated X-Ray. “Is that…” he says, slowly.

Brad’s voice sounds smug when he answers. “Yes. Indeed.”

“But how did he manage to do that?” He stares at the picture, tilting his head, trying to make sense of it. 

“We’re not sure. He came in alone, and obviously couldn’t tell us much.” Nate says, also stepping up to the X-Ray. 

“No matter what we do, we have to make sure Ray Person never sees this X-Ray.” Brad says. “He would be the one trying it, as well.” 

Mike would like to protest, but then, this is right up Person’s alley. He sighs. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Nate tilts his head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never come across this.” He pauses for a moment. “I mean, who in their right mind would put a lightbulb in their mouth?”

Mike chuckles. “Well, you know what they say. Never a dull moment here at Mathilda.” 

Nate hums in agreement when Mike’s phone pings. 

Mike looks at it, and swears. “Seems like Buzz Lightyear here will have to deal with his predicament for a while longer. We have incoming, Nate. Traffic accident. Doesn’t look good.”

____

“Walt.”

“No.”

“Walter!”

“Nope.”

“Honeyboo?”

“Ray. I told you. I am not getting coffee for you. If you want coffee, go get your own.”

“But.”

“No buts. I’m busy.”

“First of all, reading a magazine doesn’t mean you’re busy. Secondly, you know I cannot get coffee.”

“You can.”

“Not at the good place.”

“And whose fault is that?”

There was a small pause, and Walt looked up from his magazine to watch his boyfriend. Ray was making puppy eyes at him, but Walt had long since learnt that puppy eyes were a bad sign when it came to Ray. 

“Mine. Perhaps.” A small voice said. 

“Yours. Without a doubt.”

“No, see, I am only partly to blame. I do admit that walking into the coffee store in my scrubs wasn’t a great idea, but there really was no reason to ban me from that place for life.”

“Ray. Your scrubs were soaked in blood. And it was rush hour. They had to deep clean the place after they threw you out because they were terrified the Health Inspectors would shut them down.” 

“As I said. They overreacted. No need to cut me off from my supplies.”

“You can still get coffee from the cafeteria.”

“Now you’re just being cruel.”

______

From: c.schwetje@mathildahostpital.org  
To: ER_allstaff@mathildahospital.org  
Sent: Friday 8/17 13:32

Dear all, 

I am pleased to announce that the date for our next infectious disease / quarantine drill has been set for August 15th.  
Senior Staff will circulate more information shortly, but as a reminder, I am attaching the general guidelines and the follow up from the last drill.  
Whilst I do understand that this will cause considerate interruptions to your work, we are required by our insurance provider to conduct these drills on a regular basis.  
If you have any questions, please contact your line manager in the first instance.

Best wishes and kind regards

C Schwetje  
Head of ER  
Mathilda General Hospital  
A NATIONAL LEADER IN CARE

Mathilda General Hospital is ranked #3 in California 

Please consider the environment before printing this email.

From: c.schwetje@mathildahostpital.org  
To: ER_allstaff@mathildahospital.org  
Sent: Friday 8/17 13:35

Dear All,

Apologies, forgot to attach the documents. 

Best wishes and kind regards

C Schwetje  
Head of ER  
Mathilda General Hospital  
A NATIONAL LEADER IN CARE

Mathilda General Hospital is ranked #3 in California 

Please consider the environment before printing this email.

____

“So I hear you guys are having another drill? That makes what? Three this year?” Kocher asks, walking up behind Brad and clapping him on the shoulder. 

There’s only a select group of individuals that would dare clap Brad Colbert on the shoulder, especially when he is in the middle of taking notes in a patient’s file, but Brad just winces and shakes his head. 

“Four, if you count the false alarm in February.” He shuts the file and looks at Kocher. “But how would you fuckups from the Fire Department know about that?”

Instead of being insulted, Kocher laughs. “Well, I have my sources.”

Brad thinks about it for a moment. “You ran into Ray and he drenched you in his verbal diarrhea.” 

Kocher stops laughing, suddenly, not gradually, and Brad knows what’s coming. “Not quite. He picked up a bleeder from that traffic accident earlier.” 

“Bad?” Brad says, already knowing the answer. 

Kocher nods. “Took us a while to get her out of the car wreck. Almost thought she would die on site.” He winces. “Ray said the whole place looked a lot like a tomato crate run over several times.”

Brad doesn’t say anything. He had worked as an EMT before, he knows what it’s like out there, but that doesn’t mean he likes the way Ray talks sometimes. 

Kocher laughs again. “Can you imagine what would happen if they made good on their threats and sent Ray Person to a psychologist?”

“Now, careful what you say. Ray Person might be the victim of an unfortunate lack of filter when it comes to what he says, but he’s still the best EMT out there.” Brad pauses for a second. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.” 

Kocher laughs again. “No worries, Brad. You know I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” He extends his hand, and Brad shakes it. They’ve both been through too much together to fall out over something like that. Especially since Brad knows Kocher is on hour 16 of a 12 hour shift. 

“So what are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be cooking firehouse chili for the rest of your clan?” Brad asks, waving a hello to Mike, who waves back in passing.

“Nah, I’m here to pick up my stretcher. Hasser didn’t want to move the victim from our stretcher to theirs, and I know how sticky Person’s fingers are, so I want to make sure I get my equipment back.”

Brad hums in agreement and has a quick look on their board. “They put her in room SO3, so you might try your luck there.” 

“Great stuff.” Kocher says. “Oh. We’re still on for beers tomorrow?” 

Before Brad can answer, Walt’s voice interrupts him. “Do you know where Nate is?” The EMT nods at Kocher. “Ray is looking for him.” 

Brad rolls his eyes. “I’ll take care of it. Your imbecile is in the ambulance bay?” he asks Walt, starting to walk away. 

Walt nods, already talking to Kocher. 

“Oh, and first beer is on you, Eric!” Brad says over his shoulder. “For bad-mouthing Ray!”

“There’s beers for that?” Walt asks with a dry voice. “I feel like I’m owed at least two dozen rounds.” 

___

Brad finds Ray sitting on the bench in the ambulance bay, looking distinctly forlorn. Brad sighs and walks up to him.

“I heard you were looking for Nate.” He says when he gets to Ray. “What for?”

“My tummy is growling.” Ray, unasked, lifts his TShirt and pokes at his stomach. 

“Your … tummy is growling.” Brad repeats, slowly. “Firstly, I know you are a trained medical professional, so I’d expect your diagnosis to be a bit more sophisticated than what a talented three year old toddler would say. Secondly. Have you tried not poking it.” 

Ray lets his shirt fall again, but doesn’t quite stand up straight. Instead, he grimaces and tries to pass by Brad. Instead of letting him walk by, Brad lifts up a hand. 

That’s the thing with Ray. He might never have what he feared of having, but there was usually a kernel of truth to his symptoms, just enough to start him worrying. 

And yet. Last time Brad had checked, Nate had just finished treating the car accident victim. Nate had waved off Brad when he asked if they needed help - Garza and Nate seemed to have it all under control, and Pappy was already on his way, so Brad had let it go. 

By now, Nate would be in the shower, trying to get rid of the blood on his skin. They were all wearing scrubs, and gloves, but arterial bleeding usually found its way through all layers of protection. 

For reasons he doesn’t want to examine any closer in the presence of Ray Person, Brad knows that Nate didn’t use the free shower gel provided by the hospital. Instead, he brought his own - some weird organic soap that made him smell like freshly washed linen and flowers. Brad really shouldn’t like Nate as much as he does. 

Nate deserves five minutes of peace and quiet, and Brad wouldn’t be the one letting Ray of all people loose on Nate. Some sacrifices, Brad thinks, were worth making. 

“What’s the last thing you ate?” he asks through gritted teeth, looking down at Ray. 

Ray thinks for a second. 

“Well, I had donuts for breakfast - the good Krispy Kreme ones, not some second-rate stuff you buy at a gas station. Only the best for me and Walt. Walt likes the one with chocolate glaze, which is hilarious, because sometimes he gets chocolate on his lips-” 

Brad’s hand on Ray’s chest applies a bit more pressure. “Ray. Try to smash your remaining two brain cells together for long enough to listen and answer my question. What’s the last thing you ate. Bonus points if you don’t mention Walt.” 

Ray grimaces again, but thinks for a second. “Oh. I had a burrito.”

“Where did you get it from?” Brad asks, already dreading the answer. 

“That place down near the bay. Makes the best burritos, I tell you. The Shinky Shack or something like that.”

“The Shaky Rack.” Brad says, tonelessly, and Ray nods enthusiastically. 

“Yes! That’s the one! That place is awesome. Doesn’t even charge extra for the guacamole.”

“You’re a ridiculous human being.” Brad says, and Ray shrugs. 

“So you think it’s the burrito?” Ray asks, voice quiet. And Brad doesn’t know Ray’s story, doesn’t know why the guy is so anxious about his health, but his saving grace is that he never does it as a prank, he always seems to be genuinely upset and worried. 

“Yes, Ray. I do think it’s the burrito place that gets shut down by health inspectors every three weeks.” Brad says and steps back. 

“You’ll probably get the shits in the next couple hours or so. Tell Walt you’re sorry and try to move on.” Brad says, already walking away. If he hurries, he’ll make it to the coffee place and back just when Nate is finishing up his shower. 

____

“Coffee? For me?” Nate says, taking the offered cup from Brad’s hands. 

Instead of answering, Brad falls into step with Nate, humming around his own cup. 

“Even though you owe me.” Brad finally says as they walk up to the whiteboard in the emergency nurse station. Nothing urgent, Nate realizes with a quick gaze up and down the board. Which is good, because the traffic accident still haunts him. 

“Oh yeah? How so?” He asks, taking another sip and enjoying the taste. 

“Ray Person ate a burrito.” Brad says, not looking at Nate. 

The statement is inane enough to make Nate stop for a second. Then he laughs, really laughs, tipping his head forward because his body cannot contain the laughter. 

Next to him, Brad smiles. 

“Oh God.” Nate says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Diarrhea?” 

Brad chokes on his coffee. “No. Not yet.” He smiles too, and for a second, Nate is sure he’s never seen a prettier sight. 

“Just stomach ache?” Nate asks, a bit worried. 

“He’ll be fine, Nate.” Brad says, finally turning to Nate. “Perhaps that will give him a lesson.” 

“You do understand it is Ray Person we are talking about here.” Nate says, looking at Mike, who just walked in, ear to his phone. 

Mike waves Nate over, and before he disappears, Brad says: “If there’s anything that will make Ray Person learn, it’s the shits.” 

DAY 5

“The good news is, the diarrhea part is over.” Ray says as he is walking up to Brad and Nate. 

“Ray, as always, I am not interested in your personal well-being.” Brad says, looking intently at a file. 

“Liar. You even gave me a diagnosis yesterday whilst our good doctor here was spelunking around.” Ray says, wiggling his eyebrows at Nate. 

“He wasn’t spelunking, he was getting a break after he rescued someone’s life, something you won’t necessary be familiar with, but should nevertheless respect.” Brad says, still not lifting his gaze from the file. 

“What’s the bad part?” Nate asks, trying to take control of the conversation. 

Without missing a beat, Ray turns to him, and explains: “Well, the burrito had beans.” 

_______

The surgeon changing room, Poke thinks, is an insult to all staff. It’s old, half of the lockers don’t close properly, and there’s a perennial smell of disinfectant in the air. The last one, Poke thinks as he puts on his shirt, can at least be excused. 

“Hey, Poke? I just wanted to say thanks for staying late.” Poke twirls around. 

“Pappy, my man. I told you you have to stop being so damn quiet. You’ll give me a heart attack one of those days.” 

Pappy smiles, and says nothing. 

The head surgeon is something of an enigma to Poke - quiet, unassuming, and easy to overlook. Put him in a surgical theatre, however, and the guy shines. Like he did this afternoon. 

Poke shrugs. “Not like I could pack up and go halfway through and leave you there with her, could I.” 

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” Pappy says, walking up to his locker and jiggling the lock to get it to open. 

There’s a beat of silence before Poke speaks up. “You did a hell of a job there, Paps.” 

Pappy shakes his head, but Poke insists. “No, really. I’ve talked to Ray. They had trouble getting her to the hospital alive. Ray said nobody thought she’d make it to surgery, even.”

“Fick did a good job stabilizing her.” Pappy says, rummaging in his locker, not looking at Poke. 

“Yeah, but you saved her life, Doctor Patrick.” 

“You know, when you speak like that, you almost sound like Rudy.” Pappy replies, finally emerging from the depth of his spind, holding his towel. “And you know I couldn’t have done it without you, Poke. Thanks for taking this on.”

Poke shrugs. Gina won’t be happy - today was their date night, and he blew it - but she’ll understand. She usually does. 

“Yeah, well, you know what they say. White man will always need a brown guy to get them high. It’s just that I’m doing it legally. Some might say I’m living the dream.”

Pappy laughs as he passes Poke. It’s a short laugh, fitting the man, and Poke smiles. They’ve seen some shit in their theatre, but they made it through another day. 

“And I’m going to give you one last bit of brown man wisdom, Paps.”

Pappy turns around, looking at Poke. “What is that?”

“We’ll never have to do today again.”

Pappy sighs, and Poke can see the toll this day has taken on his friend. 

“Hallelujah.” Pappy finally says, slowly walking to the shower.

“Hallelujah” Poke says, and it echoes in the empty staff room.  
___

Sometimes, Walt worries about Ray. Really worries. Because Ray is so loud that sometimes, people forget that Ray can be quiet, too. 

They’ve been working together for three years now, and been together for not much less than that, and if this time taught Walt anything, it’s that the quieter Ray is, the more you should worry.  
Kind of like a cranky toddler, Brad had said when Walt had brought it up once. The problem is not the noise. The problem is the silence.

Walt’s not worried when Ray screeches Avril Lavigne songs in the ambulance, high on caffeine after 36 hours no sleep. Walt’s not worried when Ray bounces down the hallway of the hospital, trying to find Nate to show him a muscle that he swears wasn’t there the day before. 

Walt worries about Ray when he’s the way he is now. Quiet, intensely focused on the road, sirens blaring. Ray’s hand grip the steering wheel so hard they are white. His eyes are bloodshot - it’s their seventh drive today, they were supposed to be off and home by now. 

All Walt can hear is Ray repeating the same words over and over and he feels them in his soul. 

“It’s a kid, it’s a fucking kid, how do kids get shot at schools these days. It’s a kid.” 

They pull up to the hospital and Nate and Brad are there. They run to the kid, who’s still alive, but only barely. Nate shouts and runs next to the stretcher, and for a second, Walt feels like this is under control, Nate and Brad are there now, they will take care of this - 

____

There’s poetry in brutal efficiency, Brad thinks as he watches Nate leaning over the kid’s torso, trying to find the source of the bleeding. 

He can hear Nate cursing, and knows it doesn’t look good. Nate usually doesn’t let his emotions show, not in front of a patient, and the fact that he does now tells Brad more about this girl’s situation than the beeping warning signs from the displays all around him. 

Nate yells: “I need more light!” and Brad is at his side in a second, adjusting the light source, taking the bloody gauze pads, trying to anticipate Nate’s next orders. 

It’s moments like these that Brad became a nurse for. There’s chaos all around them - yells and screams and people dashing in and out of the room - but all Brad feels is calm. He’s watching Nate dig in the torso, still trying to find the source of the bleeding, trying to stop it, and Brad knows it sounds crazy, but his mind is never as calm as it is in situations like these. 

And Nate - Brad has watched Nate treat hundreds of patients by now. He’s seen him caring, and smiling, and he knows that a lot of people take a look at Nate’s boyish face and underestimate him. 

Because the Nate right next to him is not kind, or careful, or soft. He’s half-leaning on a little girl’s bleeding body, trying to get more leverage, reaching inside her chest, yelling commands, fighting to keep his patient alive. 

It’s a universal truth that sometimes in their job, they have to hurt people to make them better. Brad has seen doctors and nurses - good health care professionals, excellent in theory - hesitate when it came to taking this step. They don’t tend to stick around. 

Nate never hesitated once. 

Brad hands him another gauze patch, and watches him fight over the girl’s life. 

___

Nate’s been asleep for twenty minutes when he bolts from sleep. He doesn’t know what woke him until he feels a soft touch on his wrist. He looks down and sees Brad’s hand carefully stroking his pulse point. The intimacy of the touch takes Nate’s breath away for a second.

He looks at Brad, who hasn’t said a word. Brad wouldn’t wake him without good reason, but now that Nate’s awake, Brad looks like he’s not sure how to proceed. 

The silence stretches out between them, the sound is the humming of the coke vending machine in the background. 

Brad still holds Nate’s wrist. 

“The kid’s stable.” he finally says, whispering voice quiet in the staff room. 

Nate nods, because that can’t be it, that can’t be why Brad woke him up, Nate only gets woken up if there’s bad news. Good news can wait, bad ones can’t. 

Brad seems genuinely torn up, and if it is shaking Brad, it must be bad. 

“What is it, Brad?” Nate finally asks, voice deep after his sleep. Brad’s eyes narrow at him. 

Brad takes a deep breath before he continues. “Godfather refuses to send her to surgery again. She’s stable enough, and Godfather doesn’t deem surgery necessary because -”

“-The kid has no insurance.” Nate completes, and Brad simply nods. 

Nate curses under his breath. This fucking joke again. The first surgery - the ones where Pappy removed bullets and stitched the kid up - was life-saving and Godfather couldn’t refuse it. The second one, the one scheduled for today, was to clean up shit, make it easier for the body to heal. 

Bodies heal by themselves, but sometimes in bad ways. Surgery would help, but it’s not necessary. 

Godfather’s decision basically condemned this girl to a lifetime of pain. She would, however, survive, so the hospital was legally allowed to refuse treatment. 

Nate looks at Brad, who smiles down at him. It’s not a good smile, Nate thinks, not the one that lights up the room, not even the quiet one that shows on Brad’s face whenever Ray is doing something amusing. This smile makes Nate feel sad, and defeated, and he will not have it. 

He sits up and puts his feet on the floor. Brad changes the grip on Nate’s arm to help him stand up. There’s not a lot of space between them, but if Brad doesn’t step back, neither will Nate. 

Nate sometimes forgets how tall Brad really is, but now he has to cock his head to look him in the eye. 

He’s lost for words, trying to find the right thing to say. 

Brad smiles down at him, and it’s a good smile this time, a real one. “I don’t know how you’ll do it, but I know you’ll figure out a way. But first -”

The door to the staff room opens with a bang, and Nate is blinded by the lights that are suddenly flooding the room. 

“I hope you guys are all dressed and presentable.” Ray walks into the room, stopping the swinging door with a foot, because both of his hands are full with coffee cups. There’s two in each hand, large sizes. “Not that I would mind seeing either of you naked, that is.”

“Ray.” Brad’s voice sounds long-suffering, but he doesn’t walk up to help his friend, who seems to be struggling with keeping the cups upright. “Did you run from your babysitter again?”

“No, Walt’s hiding outside. He wanted to give you guys some more time, and told me to stay out of it.”

“Which you clearly didn’t do.” 

“I was told - and paid, thank you very much, Bradley - to bring Nate some, and I quote “good coffee, not that plebeian tar soup that the staff room serves” - Ray is trying to do air quotes, and Brad steps in to rescue the coffee. It doesn’t faze Ray. 

“I was told and paid to serve hot coffee. Not cold, not lukewarm. Hot coffee. And nothing, not even the beauty of a soulful heart-to-heart can distract your Ray-Ray from his task.” With that, he hands Nate a cup. 

He looks immensely proud of himself, and for a second, Nate wonders if he should tip Ray.

“You can come in now, Walt. They are all dressed. I told you.” Ray shouts. Walt does step into the room, looking sheepish. 

“Sorry, guys, I told him to wait.” He says, walking up and taking one of the two remaining cups in Ray’s hands. 

“So what are you going to do now, Doc?” Ray says, taking a gulp of his coffee. Nate can feel the heat of the cup in his hands, and wonders how Ray doesn’t scream in heat-related agony. 

“Don’t know yet.” He says, honestly. “But we’ll find a way.”

DAY 6

Nate had been avoiding his manager for the better part of his shift. Mike had warned him that Encino Man - Schwetje, Nate thinks, it’s unprofessional to use nicknames for his manager, no matter how fitting they are - was looking for him. 

And it’s not like Nate is actually hiding. He is just careful to be where Schwetje is not. Because whatever Schwetje wants to talk to Nate about, it won’t be good, and Nate is pushing his limits as is. It’s better for everyone if they delay that talk until tomorrow. Or until Nate had a chance to catch some sleep. 

Just not now, because Nate has a ton of paperwork to catch up on, plus his patients to check in on, and he still hasn’t figured out how to convince Godfather to pay for the girl’s surgery. 

Nate grinds his jaw as he walks down the hallway. It’s okay. He’ll figure it out. Somehow. 

His thoughts get interrupted by a hand appearing out of nowhere, pulling him into a storage cupboard. It takes a second for Nate’s brain to catch up - before he realizes three things at once.

First - That was Brad’s arm, and Brad is now looking down at Nate, whispering “Don’t say a word.” Nate simply nods. 

Secondly - it is not a very large cupboard. They are standing so close that their chests are almost touching, and Nate has to crook his head to look up at Brad. 

Three - Brad still holds Nate’s arm, and doesn’t make any motion of letting go. Instead, Nate can feel Brad’s thumb rubbing over the skin on the inside of his left elbow, and he has to close his eyes for a second before doing anything monumentally stupid. 

When he opens his eyes again, Brad looks at him, still smiling, as if he was amused by his own private joke. 

“Care to explain yourself?” Nate whispers, because he feels like he’s owed an explanation. 

“Our esteemed Chief Surgeon is looking for you,” Brad answers, and his voice is low and dangerous. “I thought you might prefer not to run into him.” He smiles, but it’s not a good smile. It’s an ‘I’m sorry’ smile more than anything else, and Nate grimaces. 

“That obvious?” he asks back, because while he has given up on hiding things from Brad’s outstanding observational skills, he doesn’t want the rest of the staff to know. 

“I figured something was off when you ducked behind the ER counter just as he walked in looking for you. It wasn’t exactly a monumental puzzle.” 

Nate doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s true, but admitting to it makes him feel childish. It’s not that he wants to show no weakness, but he feels like his reasons for being weak aren’t good enough, especially not for Brad. 

So Nate says nothing, and lets the silence spread between them. Brad’s thumb still moves back and forth over Nate’s skin. Nate hears people walking by on the other side of the door, the usual cacophony of hospital noises, but in here, it is quiet. For the first time in two days, Nate feels calm. 

“Are you really going to Pendleton Central?” Nate asks instead. He can feel Brad inhaling sharply, but when Nate looks, there is no trace of surprise on Brad’s face. Instead, he looks as collected as ever. 

“I see you’ve been talking to brass.” Brad whispers, amusement creeping into his voice. “Yet again, my faith in our leadership has been disappointed. Why are you asking?”

Nate thinks about this question for a second. He needs to know, but the urgency of finding out surprises him. Losing Brad to another hospital would suck - he’s a supremely competent nurse, great to work with, and he is one of the few people to be able to keep Ray in check. 

But it’s more than that. It’s not just that Nate can rely on Brad, that he trusts Brad. 

Nate doesn’t want Brad to leave because Brad knows how Nate likes his coffee, and gave him a pair of the good scrubs. It’s because Brad fusses over Nate riding a bike, and gets him to wear a helmet. It’s because Brad helps Nate hide without Nate having to ask. 

But Nate also knows that this goes beyond Brad’s question, that this is something they need to talk about when they are alone, not in a cupboard, and definitively not hiding from anyone. 

Instead of answering, Nate just raises his eyebrow and looks at Brad. 

Brad chuckles and exhales slowly, shaking his head. “You’ll be pleased to hear that this job offer was mostly used as a bargaining chip. Despite Ray Person’s persistent presence, and the incompetence of management, I have no plans to abort this particular ship.” 

A warm feeling spreads in Nate’s belly. He nods at Brad. 

“Well, I’m glad we had this talk.” Nate stops for a second, listening to the sounds outside. “I think it’s safe to go out now.” He lifts his hand, and Brad lets go without resistance. Nate fights the disappointment rising in him. It’s not like they could have stayed in this cupboard forever. 

“Thanks for rescuing me, Brad.” He says, still whispering, and steps out of the cupboard. 

_____

His luck, of course, can’t last. Schwetje eventually catches up with Nate. Nate is standing by a patient’s bed, looking at their file - nothing urgent, just self-induced food poisoning brought on by a case of cooking incompetence - when his boss appears at his right side. 

“Nate. I was looking everywhere for you.” Schwetje manages to make it sound like an accusation. 

“Well, it seems like you found me.” Nate says, snapping the file shut, nodding to the patient in what he hopes is a slightly encouraging way, and walks away. Schwetje may have no qualms about discussing any given topic in front of patients, but Nate does. 

Thankfully, Schwetje follows him without comment as Nate walks down the hallway to the ER reception. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Brad talking to Mike. Brad stops mid-conversation to salute Nate, and Mike turns around, trying to hide his laugh. Nate drops his head to hide his smile. 

When they get to reception, Nate turns around to face Schwetje, who looks at him with a distant look in his eyes. 

“You wanted to talk to me?” Nate prompts, hoping to get this over soon. The peaceful feeling he had all morning after the Cupboard Incident is starting to dissolve. 

“Oh, yes.” Schwetje pauses. “I was wondering if you have read Griego’s email.” 

Nate blinks, trying to figure out which of the dozens of emails Griego sends per day he has read. 

There’s exactly two people among the Mathilda Hospital Emergency Room Staff that diligently read every single one of the all staff emails - one is Ray Person, who ranks them by an obscure points system of ‘stupidity, lack of relevance and typos” and Nate, who hopes it would give him a heads-up of whatever the managers were up to. 

“Um” Nate says. “The one about -”

Schwetje interrupts him. “The one about the quarantine drill, of course.” He looks at Nate. “What do you think?”

The vagueness of the question makes Nate blink. What Nate thinks, of course, is that quarantine drills are an interruption to their day-to-day work, probably useless in preparing them for the reality, and a sign of how easily panicked people are by the most obscure things, but Nate is pretty sure this is not the response he should give.

Instead, he settles for a neutral “I am a bit wary of the interruption it will cause to the normal work.” 

Schwetje waves his hand. “Oh, I’m sure the patients will understand how important this exercise is.”

Nate is pretty sure the patients will understand no such thing, and will complain, but he doesn’t bother to bring this up. “It’s in three days?”

Schwetje nods. “Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He stops, and out the corner of his eyes, Nate can see Brad and his friend from the fire department - Kocher, Nate thinks, his name is Kocher - looking at them. Brad raises his eyebrow, and Kocher seems to desperately hold in a laugh. 

Nate shakes his head - though at what or whom, he is not quite sure - and returns his attention to his boss. 

“We need victims.” Schwetje says, finally. “At least two. I’m leaving this with you.” With that, he turns and walks off, leaving a speechless Nate in his wake. 

As Nate is looking at the retreating back of Schwetje, Mike walks up to him. 

“What’d he want?” Mike says, not unkind. 

Nate waves a hand in his direction. “It was about the quarantine drill. Apparently I’m in charge of finding victims.” He turns to Mike, hoping for some kind of inspiration.

Instead, Mike hums. “Did he say if he wanted them alive or dead?”

“Nope.” Nate says, feeling suddenly helpless. 

“Well.” Mike drawls. “You could always go to the morgue and see what they can lend you.”

Nate doesn’t reply, just waves his hand and walks off. Mike looks after him, and sighs. He’s worried about Nate. Their job comes with depressing choices and experiences, but he’s never seen Nate downcast like this. This guy just can’t get a break.

Fortunately, Mike knows a guy who’s as interested in Nate’s well-being as he is. 

_________

As head nurse, it’s Mike’s job to know his guys. He knows when they are angry (and why), he knows how they react when they fucked up, and he knows that Brad Colbert likes to check up on his motorcycle every now and then, to make sure she (and Brad Colbert’s motorcycle is definitely a she) is okay. 

Mike also knows about tactical advantages, so he waits until Brad kneels down to check something on the underside of the machine. Mike wouldn’t know, he has seen enough bike accidents to stay far away from them. 

“Listen, I do not know what your plan regarding Nate is -” Brad looks up, alarmed and angry, but Mike continues without stopping. “I am sure you have a long-term plan about conquering his heart, and while I do think you should perhaps speed up this whole thing, it’s not for me to say.”

“Then don’t say it.” Brad says, tonelessly, and Mike realizes that is the first, however tacit, confession of feelings from Brad he has heard. Brad stands up, straightens to take full advantage of his height, and looks down on Mike. 

Mike continues. He is on a mission, and he will not be distracted. Or intimidated. Even though Brad is giving him the stink-eye right now. 

“I’m sure you know that Nate isn’t having a great time right now.” 

“And I’m sure the conversation he had with Encino Man didn’t help either.” Brad answers. 

Mike hums in agreement. 

“He didn’t say anything about the signature, right?” Brad asks. “I told you I’d rather own up to it than let Nate take the hit for it.”

Typical, Mike thinks. Both of them are so willing to take the hit for the other one that they don’t see what’s right in front of their eyes.

“I’m sure Schwetje has all but forgotten about that.” Mike says, knowing it’s the truth. “He did, however, ask Nate to find victims for the quarantine drill.”

“Fucking hell.” Brad says, drawing out the sound. 

“Indeed.” Mike replies, because there really is nothing else to be said about their boss. “So whatever it is you’re planning to do to cheer Nate up, I’d suggest stepping it up. Briskly.” 

Brad looks like he’s about to protest, but Mike interrupts him.

“I said I wouldn’t talk about it, and I won’t, but let’s make one thing clear, Brad - none of us can pull Nate out of his head like you do.” And with that, he walks away. 

Brad watches him walk away, Mike’s final words echoing in his head. None of us can pull Nate out of his head like you do. He can feel a smile creeping on his face. It’s stupid. A small, throw-away comment like that shouldn’t make him feel all wobbly inside. 

But, a small voice in his head supplies, it’s Nate. 

Nate, who somehow managed to sneak past Brad’s guards. It must have started when I realized he wasn’t half as stupid as everyone else, Brad thinks. His damn competency and skills. That and his fucking mouth. 

Brad sighs. No use thinking about it now. He has someone to cheer up. And though he is afraid to use what amounts to the nuclear option, he thinks it’s high time he’s bringing out the big stuff. 

_________

“I’m going to take you out tonight.” Walt says, smiling at Ray. 

Ray just rubs his eyes - they started getting sticky and grimy, they always do on long shifts - and smiles. “Do you mean food - take out or murder-takeout? Because I’d be up for both, the way this night is going.”

Walt rolls his eyes, which Ray finds impossibly endearing. Everything about Walt is endearing, if he’s being honest, but then, he’s on the fifth night shift in a row. Rational thinking left his body a long time ago.  
______

“Come with me.” Brad’s voice interrupts Nate’s thoughts. He sighs and looks up at Brad, who stands next to his table in the cafeteria. 

“Is this urgent?” Nate points at the various folders, files and papers strewn around the table. “I’m trying to get some paperwork done.”

“Are you saying you’d rather do paperwork than come with me?” Brad sounds positively insulted. 

Nate sighs again, but starts to put his paperwork in neat piles. He wasn’t getting anything done, anyways. His thoughts keep coming back to the school shooting victim - Annie, her name is Annie, he reminds himself- and the fact that there is absolutely nothing he can do to save her from a lifetime of pain and debt. 

“That’s it.” Brad says, takes his piles, and merges them into one gigantic pile. “This is exactly why I am here.”

Nate wants to protest - he had a system, he really did - but Brad just looks at him indignantly. 

“Up and at it, Fick.” With that, he strolls out of the cafeteria, leaving Nate to follow after him. 

Thanks to Brad’s ridiculously long legs, it takes until the elevator for Nate to catch up with him. 

“Glad you could make it,” Brad says, looking down at Nate. 

Nate grimaces, too tired to smile. The door pings and closes, but doesn’t move. Brad doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. Instead, he looks at Nate, and Nate tries to smile, he really does, but he thinks of Annie, who will be in pain for the rest of her life, and he thinks of the traffic accident victim that came in last night shift, and he thinks of how all he does is try to stitch people back together, and how he sometimes succeeds, but that success, in Nate’s world, always comes at a very high price.

And at that, Nate doesn’t pretend anymore. He lets Brad see it all - how tired he is, how fed up with the system, how hopeless he feels. He simply lets it show on his face, and hopes Brad understands. 

After a moment, Brad sighs, and whispers: “Nate” and Nate hates himself for putting the worry in Brad’s voice. 

Brad leans forward, and for a moment, Nate thinks he’s going for a kiss. But instead of anticipation, he feels dread - he doesn’t want it, not like this, not for this reason. If Brad ever kisses him, it should be done of joy, not of pity, not to cheer Nate up, but because he wants to. 

Before Nate can think about how to articulate that, he feels Brad’s hand stroking his hip, reaching behind him, pressing the elevator button. Nate’s relieved, and sighs. Instead of moving away, Brad stays the way he is, leaning over Nate, cornering him in the elevator. Nate leans in a bit, just enough to feel Brad’s body heat, and Brad doesn’t move, just stays. It must look awkward, Nate thinks - the two of them close enough to hug, but not embracing - but he doesn’t care. He feels safe, for the first time in a while, and all is good. 

For a blissful moment, the world is shut out, and it is quiet. Nate takes a deep breath in - he can smell Brad, and the laundry detergent he uses, and shuts his eyes. 

The elevator pings, and Brad curses. Nate opens his eyes again, and smiles. It comes easier this time. Brad moves away just in time for the elevator doors to open. He turns to Nate. 

“You ready, Fick?”

“Born ready, Colbert.” Nate jokes, still wondering where they are going. 

He follows Brad out of the elevator and, as they walk, Nate is struck by how different this part of the hospital feels. The walls are a nice yellow, there’s flowers, and a couple walks by, happily cooing at a baby. 

Nate’s not sure what they are doing here, but Brad confidently strolls down the hallway, so Nate follows him. 

Brad stops at a door, swipes his ID card, and waits for Nate to catch up with him before stepping through. 

Two rows of cribs are lined up to each side of the hallway they are in, and suddenly, Nate realizes Brad took him to the newborn ward. He looks at Brad, waiting for an explanation, but instead of stopping and explaining, Brad walks down the hallway to the office at the other end.

Nate follows him, walking slowly to have a look at the babies. They are all just hours old, crumpled and rosy. Most of them are asleep, and despite the dread in his stomach, Nate can’t help but smile at the tiny humans. 

A whispering voice interrupts Nate’s thoughts. 

“Now, I knew you were stupid, but I never thought the situation was this dire.” 

Nate looks up, alarmed, and sees a guy wearing a bandana, holding a crying baby in his arms. He rocks the baby gently, clearly trying to calm it down, but the baby is howling. Behind the man, a young male nurse sneaks in, looking positively distraught. 

“I’m so sorry, Doc, I just thought they wouldn’t hear it!” At the sound of his voice, the baby’s wailing gets louder, and the guy stops to glare at the nurse. 

Nate looks at Brad, who is now standing next to the guy in the bandana. 

“Having trouble with your kids, Doc?” Brad whispers, looking at the crying baby, but making no effort to hold it. 

“Wouldn’t have any trouble if my patients weren’t smarter than my staff.” Bandana guy - Doc, Nate supposes - glares at the nurse. The baby keeps howling, and the other newborns in the room are starting to get agitated, as well. 

Brad snorts. “What did he do?” Brad leans over one of the cribs, rocking it gently, and the baby in it yawns slightly. 

Nate is still not sure what’s going on, but it beats brooding over paperwork. 

“Why don’t you tell Brad what you did, QTip?” Doc hisses, adjusting his grip on the baby so that it lies in his arms. This seems to calm it down somewhat, and Doc starts to stroke his back. 

The nurse - QTip, and Nate can see how he got his nickname, with his white-blond hair sticking out under his rag - looks positively ashamed. “I um -” he looks at the floor. “I played my mixtape in the office.”

For a moment, there is silence. Then Brad speaks up, and Nate has never been on the receiving end of his scathing, and he prays that he never will be. “You exposed a newborn to the verbal diarrhea you call rap?” Brad looks at Doc, who nods. 

“You are aware that the parents of this innocent little human being have good grounds to sue you for damages if, twenty years from now, their offspring is turning out to be yet another victim of whatever epidemic is going around then, or, even worse, one of those good-for-nothing hipsters?”

Both Brad and Doc are glaring at Qtip, and Nate is surprised he doesn’t spontaneously self-combust. 

“Get us some coffee, Stafford.” Doc finally says, and Qtip looks relieved to have an out. 

“But from the good place, do you hear me?” Qtip nods, already on his way out. As the door closes behind him, Doc turns to Nate. 

“You must be Nate.” Doc says. He walks up to Nate, the baby now sleeping in his arms. Carefully, Doc lowers the newborn into an empty cot and covers it with a blanket. Nate gets the distinct impression that Doc reserves all his kindness for his patients. 

Nate nods, because there’s nothing else to say. 

“Having a shit day?” Doc asks, quietly, but Nate knows it’s less because of the question and more to not cause any more crying from the babies. 

Nate shrugs. It’s not like he’s having a great day, but then, Doc must have had worse. Some of Nate’s patients die, but that fact is easier to accept if the person in question has lived a full life rather than a mere couple of hours. 

“More like a shit week.” Brad cuts in, and Nate looks up, surprised. Before he can speak up, Brad continues. 

“You heard about the shooting victim?”

“That was yours?” Doc asks Nate, and Nate nods. 

“And Kocher’s traffic accident.” Brad continues, and Nate winces. 

Doc whistles lowly. “No wonder you’re up here.” He turns back to Brad. “You know the drill. Don’t wake them up, don’t take them out of here, but feel free to watch them for as long as you want.” Brad nods, and Doc turns back to Nate.

“I know it’s the fucking worst thing to hear, but it’s not your fault.” Nate grimaces. He knows it’s not his fault, but it doesn’t help Annie, does it? 

“Hey.” Doc speaks up again. “It sucks, but you have to find a way to deal with it. Life doesn’t give a fuck if you feel bad.” He pauses. “You are welcome to hang around here to get a break, though.” 

With that, he walks out of the ward, and leaves Nate and Brad behind. 

Brad seems to be having a staring contest with a newborn, so Nate sighs quietly and walks along the cots, looking at the babies. 

__________

“Bro. I had the worst day.” Qtip says when he reaches Christeson, who’s waiting in the ambulance bay. 

“Worse than the one day during your residency when you got shit on three times in the span of an hour?” Christeson asks, falling into step. 

“Way worse.” Qtip says, miserably. “First, I played our mixtape in the office and woke up a baby.” 

“Dude.” Christeson says. “I told you not to play that shit at work. Our lyrics are R-Rated.”

“I know, bro. But I was so excited about last night’s session.” 

Christeson shakes his head. “Still. You can’t say ‘fuck’ around newborns, bro. That’s just not okay.” 

Qtip winces. “Well, Doc told me the same thing.”

Christeson whistles. “That’s bad, bro.” 

“And then, just when Doc was in the middle of chewing me out, Brad fucking Colbert walks in.” 

Christeson stops, and stares at Qtip. “Oh no.”

Qtip nods, miserable. “Yes. He even joined Doc.”

Christeson places a hand on Qtip’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, bro. Getting chewed out in front of Colbert?” He winces. “That’s bad.” 

Qtip nods, and there’s a moment of silence before Christeson speaks up again. 

“Did Colbert hear our mixtape, though?” 

DAY 7

“Um, M’am -” Nate takes a deep breath. “It seems like you are in labor.”

“What?” the woman shrieks, and Nate can’t help but feel sympathetic. The patient was brought in with bad back cramps. However, Nate is on hour 28 of a 36 hour shift, so his supplies of empathy are pretty depleted. 

“I assume you didn’t know you were pregnant?” Nate says, trying to emit as much calm as possible. He cannot have the patient panicking, even though it would be the appropriate thing to do. 

“No!” the woman yells, though Nate is not sure if that’s from the pain or from the news that Nate just gave her.

“How sure are you, anyway?” The woman says, and Nate tries to be sympathetic, he really does. 

“I’m fairly sure, seeing that the ultrasound shows a healthy baby.” Nate answers, deadpan. 

“Can I have a second opinion on this?” The patient answers, and Nate can feel something snapping inside him. 

“Ma’m, I’d be happy to get a second opinion for you, however, seeing that you are literally in the middle of giving birth, I don’t think that’s necessary.” He tries to keep his voice level. Garza, the nurse on duty, turns a snicker into a cough, and Nate cannot fault him for that. 

“How dare you talk to me like that.” The patient tries to get up, but Garza gently pushes her back down onto the bed. “Are you even a doctor? You look awfully young to be a doctor. I want someone experienced.” Her voice is rising until she’s yelling more than speaking. 

Nate takes a deep breath and tries to remember that he became a doctor to help people.

“I’d be happy to provide you with all my university certifications, ma’am, however, I think this will have to wait.” Nate takes a look at the displays - all seems to be going fine, however, it’s been a while since his rotation in obstetrics.

He turns around to the sound of the doors opening. To his relief, Doc strolls in. 

“I heard you have a patient for me, Fick?” He says, and Nate can sense a hint of amusement in his voice. “I don’t have to come down here too often, so I hope this is good.”

“Are you a doctor?” the patient says loudly. “Because this kid here-” she points at Nate - “tries to tell me I’m in labor. Never heard a more ridiculous thing.” 

Doc turns around to Nate. “Oh, you just made my day.” 

Nate shrugs. “She’s all yours.” 

Doc laughs, and Nate thinks that he looks ten years younger like that. 

_____

“… so long story short, I got written up for ‘antisocial conduct’, which is of course absolute bullshit.”

“You started a riot in the cafeteria, Ray.”

“Exactly! How can that reasonably be described as ‘antisocial’? Fomenting civil unrest is an intensely social activity.”

“Are you actually offended by their coffee, or were you just looking for an excuse to use the word ‘fomenting’ in a sentence?”

“I’ve warned you of the perils of reductionism!”

“Just… please stop talking now.”

_____

Mike bowls over laughing when Nate tells him the story of the lady in labour. Doc Bryan confirmed that everything went well once she accepted her inevitable fate - she became a mother to a healthy and perfect young girl shortly after Bryan took her upstairs. 

Nate himself is still chuckling when they enter the meeting room for the Senior Staff Meeting, which is probably the only time he ever felt positive going into the meeting. They are tedious at best, or soul-draining at the worst. The only good thing that can be said about them is that they tend to run short - Ferrando doesn’t have much patience when it comes to operational questions of the hospital. The meetings are there to inform staff, not to discuss with them. 

So it takes Nate by surprise when Ferrando calls upon him to explain the case of the shooting victim. Individual patient matters are usually not discussed in this venue, but Nate is giving his best to explain the case. He explains the severity of the injuries, but Ferrando cuts him short when he starts discussing the long-term prognosis.

“That’s none of our concern, Fick.” The raspy voice of the General Manager echoes in the room. 

“But Sir, don’t you think - “ Nate injects, but a wave of Ferrando’s hand cuts him short. 

“I said enough. We saved her life, it’s not our concern how she lives with it.” The complete lack of emotion in Ferrando’s voice takes Nate’s breath away. 

He gets it, to an extent - Ferrando’s job is to look at the bottom line, to make sure the hospital is running at a profit. He isn't bogged down by individual fates. For him, his responsibility starts and stops at the hospital door. Anything outside is none of Ferrando’s concern, and he made that clear.

But Nate can’t work like that. What good was saving Annie’s life if she is to spend the rest of it in pain? Especially since there is a better option. The only thing that’s keeping them for following this path - to operate again, to make sure everything is healing correctly, to give Annie some normalcy back - is health insurance. Or, as in Annie’s case, lack thereof. 

But Nate hasn’t stood in Annie’s blood, hasn’t held her heart in his hands - literally - for this not to matter. Patients should be treated by what they need, not what they can afford to pay. But one look at Ferrando tells Nate that his boss doesn’t share his opinion.

He won’t be able to convince Ferrando to bend the rules here. Nate will have to bend them himself. 

Ferrando’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Let’s get her released as soon as possible, understood?” His watery blue eyes look straight at Nate. 

Nate nods. “Understood, sir.” 

The submission tastes like bile in his mouth. The rest of the meeting passes without Nate paying any attention to it. When Godfather dismisses them, Nate gets up and leaves, not caring about what the others may think of his behaviour. 

Brad’s standing in the hallway, saying something, but Nate passes him without acknowledging him. 

_____

It sets the course for the rest of the day. Nate is curt and precise when he gives Brad instructions on their patients. Nate does not hang around outside the treatment rooms like he usually does. 

Brad would let this go if the behaviour was limited to him. But he can see Nate avoiding Mike as much as he can get away with. He observes Nate’s curt nod when Ray talks to him, so contrary to his usual smile of indulgence when dealing with Person’s antics. 

Something is off, and Nate annoys the fuck out of Brad.

They all have bad days, and they are all in a funk sometimes. Brad doesn’t exempt himself from this. But when he is in a bad mood, he doesn’t carry his feelings of dejection around for everyone to see. Brad knows how to square his shit away, but somehow, Nate doesn’t.

Brad watches Nate sit in the cafeteria, forlornly staring into a cup of coffee, and realizes that Nate is one of those people who suffer privately in public. He shakes his head and walks up to Nate’s table, takes the cup of coffee, and walks away with it. 

They will have a conversation, but they won’t have it in public. 

At least Nate’s instincts are still on, and he follows Brad out of the cafeteria, down the hallway, and all the way into the parking lot, which is thankfully empty except for a couple carefully carrying a newborn to their car. 

Brad turns around, and Nate is right there, in his face, grabbing his coffee back. Before Nate can say a word, Brad speaks up. 

“Excuse me for being blunt here, Nate, but what the fuck is your problem?” Brad says, not unkind. He could be harsh, but he knows Nate, and he knows that Nate can dish out as good as he gets. It would be cathartic, but it wouldn’t be helpful. A shouting match in the parking lot is not what Brad is looking for right now. 

Just as predicted, Nate deflates at Brad’s words. “I don’t know how to save Annie,” he says, kicking a pebble, shoulders hanging. 

“What do you mean?” Brad asks. 

“I promised you to find a way to get Ferrando to agree to a second surgery, but I failed, Brad. I don’t know how to do this.” Nate doesn’t look up. “I tried, but …”

His voice trails off. The silence between them is oppressive, and Brad is trying to think of something, anything, that he can say to make Nate look up. 

“There’s a patient finance center.” Brad blurts out. 

“What?” Nate asks, his gaze whipping up to Brad’s face, and Brad can’t fault him for his confusion. It wasn’t what Brad meant to say, but he decides to dig in.

“There’s a patient finance center. In the basement.” Brad says, slowly. “They help people figuring out insurance stuff. Sometimes they manage to waive fees, or get donations to cover medical bills.” 

Nate’s eyes go wide. “How come I never heard about them?”

Brad grimaces. “Brass doesn’t want us to know about it. It’s a legal obligation to have one, but they keep it understaffed and underfunded. So it’s not really known.”

“So how come you know about it, then?” Nate looks up at Brad, and once again, Brad is struck by how green his eyes are. He quickly looks away.

“I know the girl who works there.” 

Nate’s face falls, and Brad realizes what he just said. 

“No, not like that. Oh God. Poke would kill me.” He stops for a second, trying to get his thoughts in order. He is not used to being on the back foot like this, and it is no surprise that this usually only happens when he is talking to Nate. 

“Poke’s wife. She works there.” Brad finally says, and Nate nods. 

“Do you think she can help us?” he asks.

“Well, I’ve never seen Gina Espera not get her way.” 

Nate nods, and pauses for a second. 

“I’m sorry, Brad.” 

Brad tries to speak up, but Nate holds up his hand. “I was a bit of an asshole today.”  
“Yeah, kinda.” Brad says, smiling so that Nate knows his feelings aren’t hurt. He pauses, his voice serious when he continues. “You can’t make yourself responsible for righting every wrong that happens around here, Nate. You’ll burn out if you do.”

Nate looks like he wants to interject, but Brad continues. “Seriously, Nate. You’re not alone in this. And I know you doctors think you are God or at least Jesus, but you can’t kill yourself over it.” 

“I guess you’re right.” Nate admits.

“Ah, just what every nurse wants to hear, coming from a doctor.” Brad says, and Nate smiles. 

“Okay, okay. No need to be cocky, Colbert.”

“And here I was thinking you liked me that way, Fick.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Nate says, slowly. 

Suddenly, the door slams open, and both their heads swivel to the movement. Schwetje steps in, waving a file. 

“Colbert? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He exclaims. “I need you to sign this form.” He is opening a patient file, causing loose papers to go flying everywhere. 

Nate decides to remove himself from this situation, and mumbles an excuse, clapping Brad’s shoulder. He has somewhere else to be. The basement, to be precise.

________

Despite Brad’s assurance and Nate’s natural tenacity, he wouldn’t have found the office if he hadn’t run into Poke in the elevator. 

“Sure you’re going the right way, doc?” Poke asks when he sees Nate pressing the button for the basement. 

Nate smiles. “I’m assured of it.” He stops before continuing. “In fact, I’m paying your wife a visit.” He smiles when he hears Poke’s laugh. 

“Oh, are you?” 

Poke pulls him into a dark hallway on the left as they exit the elevator. 

“Yeah, Brad suggested she could help me.” Nate says, trying to figure out where they are going. The motion sensors in this hallway are not working, but Poke seems to know precisely where he is going, so Nate follows him. 

“Is this for the traffic accident?” Poke says. “That surgery still haunts me.” He doesn’t seem too embarrassed about it, but then Poke always seems to be pretty forthcoming about his emotional state of mind. 

“No.” Nate replies. “Though I think you and Pap performed a miracle there. I really thought she wouldn’t make it.” He shakes his head. “I barely got her stable enough to send them upstairs to you.”

“Funny you’d say that. Pappy said pretty much the same thing about your work.” Poke says, taking a random hallway to the right. 

Nate shrugs. “Pap’s a great doctor.”

Poke stops in front of a door. “So are you, Nate.” He smiles. “So if it is not for the traffic accident, who are you begging for then?” 

Nate winces. “The shooting victim?” He doesn’t know if Poke was on duty when the girl came in, but he’s sure Poke heard about it. Poke hears about these kind of cases. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? The girl?” Poke gesticulates. “Are you telling me you are here to settle the medical debt of a teenager?” 

“Yeah. Well, I was hoping your wife could help me with that.” 

“There’s nothing my wife can’t do, Fick, but let me tell you, this system is one fucked of case of clusterfucks, if you ask me. What’s wrong about Medicare for all, anyway. I tell you. You can say all you want about those socialist countries we like to invade, but the Communists are right on one thing.” Poke looks at Nate before continuing. “Healthcare. You never hear those fucked up stories in Cuba or socialist Europe, do you? But perhaps it’s all part of a master plan. Keep the masses distracted with worries about their health bill, so that they can’t see that the elites are robbing them dry. I tell you, what this country needs-”

The door suddenly opens and a woman’s voice cuts in. “-is a good revolution. I know, Tony. You have mentioned this before.” 

Nate turns to see a tall, beautiful woman in the door, holding out her hand. He shakes it automatically. 

The woman continues. “And you are?”

“That’s Nate, Gina.” Poke says before Nate can speak up.

Nate can feel Gina pondering him, and is not sure whether he falls short. Suddenly, her face sets. “Oh. The Nate.” It is not a question, or at least not a question for Nate.

“Yes.” Poke says. “The Nate.” with an emphasis on the article. 

“How can I help you, Nate?” Gina says with a smile, motioning him to step into her office. “Tony, I am afraid you’ll have to come back later.” 

Poke doesn’t seem too fazed. “Alright. Pick you up after I’m done?” Gina nods, and Poke quickly kisses her cheek. “Keep your hands to yourself, Fick!” 

With that, he walks away, chuckling. Nate shakes his head and tries to maneuver inside the office, which is made difficult by the amount of files on every available surface. Nate carefully takes a bunch of papers lying on a chair - the only chair for visitors he can see - and puts them on his lap as he sits down. The chair wobbles, and he tries to counterbalance it.

Gina sits down behind her desk and winces. “I do have to apologize, Nate. Somehow, my repeated requests for archive space seem to have gone unnoticed.” There is no apprehension in her voice. 

“Now, what can I do for you?” she says, leaning over her desk.

Nate tries to figure out where to start. “I had a patient recently that I think should qualify for financial support.” 

“A lot of patients should, Nate, but our means are woefully short. What makes you think this case is different?” Gina says, taking notes on a sheet of paper. 

“Well, for starters, the patient is fourteen years old. Burying her in a mountain of lifetime debt when she is not even allowed to vote yet seems unfair.” 

Gina nods, and motions at Nate to continue. “What brought her in?” 

“She was shot. At school.” At this, Gina’s head whips up, her dark locks flying. 

“What?” For the first time, her voice shows a tiny bit of outrage. Nate continues, encouraged. 

“A classmate brought a gun to school, and shot her during recess. Apparently she didn’t want to go to prom with him.” The words still shock him.

Gina shakes her head. “She’s okay though?” 

Nate waves his hand in a so-so gesture. “She’ll survive, but I’d like her to have a second round of surgery to optimize her prognosis. But -” his voice trails off, and he’s not sure to continue.

“She doesn’t have insurance and Godfather wants to kick her out.” Gina completes his sentence, and Nate nods. 

“How did you know?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Gina says, and her voice has an edge of steel to it. “I’ll tell you what I need to tell everybody who comes into this office.” 

Gina Espera looks at the notes she took, wiggles her mouse to wake up her computer and sighs.

“There’s not enough money to go around. Hell, there’s barely any money at all.” 

Nate’s heart is sinking. This was his last hope. 

“However.” Gina says, slowly. “I was at a fundraiser last week, and might have a lead. Some rich lady who said she was interested in ‘supporting good causes’.” Her fingers make air-quotations, and her voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I guess we’re lucky she feels charitable.” 

“I guess so.” Nate agrees, faintly hopeful.

“I’ll tell you what. I was planning to call her up today anyway, to follow up on our meeting. I’ll mention that there’s a good cause she could be diverting money to, and we’ll see what she says, okay?” Gina looks at Nate.

It’s not a lot, Nate thinks. But it’s a lot more than he had when he stepped into the office. He nods. 

“Until then, don’t say anything. Ferrando is pissed off enough at me as is, so I wouldn’t mention that you were talking to me.” Gina doesn’t seem too upset about it. “Just try to keep her admitted for another couple of days, okay? This might take a week or so to get through, if we’re lucky.”

Nate nods and stands up. “Thanks. I’ll try my best.” He stops. “Thanks, Gina.” He turns to walk away. 

“No worries, Nate. I’ll let you know once I know more.” Gina answers. “And Nate?” 

Nate turns around to face her. 

“Brad normally doesn’t take any particular interest in individual patients.” She smiles. “He has an odd way of showing affection. But just because he doesn’t show it, doesn’t mean you can’t hurt his feelings.” 

Nate doesn’t know what to say, but Gina doesn’t expect him to. She waves him out of her office, and he finds himself standing in a dark hallway. 

He really did behave like an ass this morning. Nate sighs. He did apologize to Brad, but Gina’s words made him think he hasn’t atoned enough. 

Only one way to go about it then, Nate thinks. 

_____

Today wasn’t a good day, Brad thinks as he walks up to his locker at the end of his shift. He had to bail out Ray from HR for his revolt in the cafeteria, got cockblocked by Encino Man, and had to call Nate out on his bullshit. 

What a day, he thinks. Time to get home and forget all about it. He punches his locker to get the lock to open. He’s long given up on trying to get it fixed. 

The door finally opens and he stares at the content of his locker. Slowly, he reaches in to pull out a small box. There’s a note attached to it, and Brad opens it carefully. 

“I’m sorry I was being a dick. Not sorry about breaking into your locker, though.” 

Brad chuckles. The gift wasn’t necessary. He’d forgiven Nate when he apologized, but Brad is touched to know Nate cares enough to go out of his way to make up for his behaviour. 

He carefully puts the wrapped box and the note in his backpack. He’ll open it when he gets home. 

DAY 8

Brad’s waiting for him in the loading bay when Nate gets to the hospital the next day. The sight of him makes Nate’s heart stumble. He ignores it, dismounts from his bike and locks it up by the guard rail. 

Brad holds out a steaming cup of coffee, which Nate takes gratefully. There’s still a chill to the morning, and his hands feel cold after his morning commute. 

“Glad to see you remembered your helmet this time.” Brad says, pointing at Nate’s head. 

Nate takes his helmet off and grimaces. “Not letting me forget about that, will you?”

Brad makes no motion to leave, so neither does Nate. They stand in the middle of the bay, people floating around them, going about their business. This feels right, Nate thinks. 

“Never.” Brad says, smug smile on his face. 

Nate shakes his head. “Was there any other reason for you waiting for me besides warning me of becoming part of another set of abysmal road safety statistics?”

“I had no idea our esteemed doctor was so skilled with picking locks.”

“Just goes to show that there’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” Nate says. Brad just keeps looking at him, until Nate breaks. 

“Okay, fine. I was a scout troop leader, and their bike maintenance class taught me some very transferable skills.” Nate says, begrudgingly. 

Brad laughs out loudly. “Don’t worry, Nate, your secret is safe with me.” 

“I’m assured of this,” Nate says, blowing on his coffee and cherishing the first sip. 

Brad hums before speaking up again. “Thanks for the gift.”

“It wasn’t a real gift.” Nate objects, fiddling with the lid of his cup. 

“Nate.” Brad says, and Nate looks up to him. “You breaking into my locker to leave a box containing a sales receipt for a bike helmet counts as a gift in every possible way.” He looks at Nate, and Nate finds himself unable to look away. “It wasn’t necessary, though.” 

“No. I was a dick, and you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry I let my frustrations out on you.” Nate bends down for a moment to chain his bike to the ramp railing.

Brad continues to look at him, and says. “Okay. I forgive you. I’m expecting a thank-you letter from your alma mater every day now, thanking me for my endeavors to keep your million-dollar brain safe and secure.” 

Nate smiles slowly. “Be careful - they might even name a building after you for all your hard work and selfless service to the public.”

“I’m sure I’ll get that once I convince you to stop risking your precious brain every morning and start taking public transport like the rest of you liberal tax-money spending tree-huggers.” With that, Brad turns on his heel and walks toward the door of the hospital. “Ready to face another day of assorted acts of random insanity, Fick?”

“Well, you know what they say about scouts, Colbert. Always prepared.” 

The sound of Brad’s laughter follows Nate down the hallway, and everything is okay. This might be another shitty day, or a great one, but he made Brad laugh, and it’s not even 8 am yet. There’s worse starts to the day. 

________

“For the last time, Ray, you are not a necromancer.”

Walt’s statement was incongruous enough to make Mike stop in his steps and watch the two paramedics. From the looks of it, they were in a heated discussion in the middle of the busy hallway. Both of them completely ignored the dirty looks they were given by everyone who had to walk around them. 

Walt was looking at Ray, hair tousled from having run his hand through it too many times. Ray was looking up at Walt, arms crossed defiantly in front of his chest. 

“You don’t know! That’s what I have been saying! You wouldn’t know!” Ray replies loudly, waving one arm above his head. 

Mike watches as Walt shakes his head and starts grinding his teeth. 

“Wynn, Ferrando wants Fick to sign the discharge papers for this girl - what’s this about?” a voice next to Mike asks, and he turns his head and swallows a curse. Griego is watching the Ray and Walt fighting animatedly in the hallway. 

Mike doesn’t know how to answer - he doesn’t know what this is about, for starters, but he is also certain that whatever it is, it won’t be resolved by Griego. 

“There seems to be a disagreement.” Mike says loudly, trying to drown out Ray’s enthusiastic argumentation in the background. He doesn’t think he succeeds. 

Griego puffs his chest. “I am the ER conflict mediator, you know.” 

I know, Mike thinks. We’ve all sat through that mandated training course, and what a waste of time it was. Instead of replying, he simply nods. 

In the silence, Mike can clearly hear Walt say: “Just because you’re a really good EMT does not mean you are a necromancer, Ray.” For a second, he is tempted to let Griego loose on them, just to see where this ends. 

Griego touches Mike’s arm to get his attention back. “I better get my conflict resolution cards from my locker. Make sure they are not moving. I’ll be right back.” With that, he sprints down the hallway. 

Mike sighs. Working here is like winning the fucking lottery every day. 

He walks up to Walt and Ray, who are now blocking the hallway entirely and interrupts them. “I do not know what this is about and I do not want to.” 

He notices with satisfaction that both Walt and Ray stopped talking and are instead looking at him. He continues. 

“For all I care, you can do this stupid shit all day. But in about thirty seconds, Griego will make you sit in a circle and talk about your feelings.” Mike can see Ray roll his eyes, but there’s fear in Walt’s eyes. 

He nods. “Exactly. So if you don’t want to spend your afternoon with finger puppets and getting in touch with your inner child, cut that shit right now.” 

Ray looks like he wants to say something, but Walt takes his arm and starts walking away, dragging Ray behind him. 

Mike looks at them leave, and decides that he is needed elsewhere, too. 

__________

“Nate?” Mike’s voice is serious. Well, Nate likes to think that Mike has about three different sets of Serious Voices, and this is the one reserved for emergencies and Bad News. 

Nate sighs and flings his coffee cup into the closest recycling bin. This morning was too good to last, clearly. Mike nods his head and starts walking, and Nate follows him until Mike stops in a quiet corner. 

“Griego’s looking for you - He wants you to sign the discharge papers for Annie.” Mike says, slowly and deliberately. 

Nate curses under his breath. Gina asked him for more time, and he hoped he could slow-ball it by inaction. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. 

“Where is he now?” Nate asks, his eyes scanning the hallway. 

“Looking for Ray and Walt, I think.” Mike says with the slightest trace of humour in his voice. 

Nate looks at him questioningly, and Mike shrugs. “There was some conflict to meditate, I think.”

Despite the urgency of the situation, Nate can’t help but smile. “I bet there was.” He pauses, thinking. He won’t be able to play the long game here - simply doing nothing and hoping that Ferrando wouldn’t notice that Annie hadn’t been discharged yet was an unlikely plan to succeed. But he also can’t discharge her, not now, when there’s a real chance to getting all of this sorted. 

“Nate?” Mike asks, and from his voice Nate can tell that it’s not the first time he tried to get Nate’s attention. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid.” He grabs Nate’s arm, shaking him to underscore his point. “This kid - I understand you care, but you need to think of yourself, too, here.” 

A sense of anger surges in Nate. He wants to argue, wants to ask Mike what point there is to any of the work that they are doing - to any of the long hours they spend here, if they don’t care about doing it right. Instead of giving in to the temptation of yelling at his friend, he shakes his head. 

“Look, Nate - What i’m trying to say is that you have to pick your battles.” Mike continues. 

Nate straightens up and looks his friend in the eye. “Great. Then this is the battle I’m going to pick.” With that, he walks away. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, kid?” Mike yells after him. 

Nate turns around and says “I’m off to find Ferrando.” 

Mike watches him disappear around a corner and curses. “Well, I guess that means I’m off to find Brad.”

___________

In the end, Nate doesn’t find Ferrando. Ferrando finds him in the ER reception. 

“There you are, Fick.” Ferrando says, putting a file - Annie’s file, Nate sees - on the counter next to Nate’s stethoscope. “I need you to sign her discharge papers.” He waves a pen at Nate, as if Nate doesn’t keep at least three different ones on him at all times. 

Nate has a quick glance at the file. Seems like her situation hasn’t improved. But then, it also hasn’t deteriorated, and that’s something that matters. 

Taking a deep breath and forcing his voice to come out even, Nate replies: “I won’t.” He pushes the file towards Ferrando and takes a step away from the counter, into the open space. He’s about to pick a fight, and he’s going to get as many spectators as possible. 

“Excuse me?” Ferrando whispers, following Nate with the file in his hand. 

“I won’t sign it.” Nate says, forcing himself to stand up straight. 

“What’s your plan here, Fick?” Ferrando asks, tilting his head. His lifeless pale eyes stare into Nate, and Nate knows he’s burning a couple of bridges here. Oh well. In for a penny, he thinks as he forces himself not to look away. 

“My plan is to give Annie the treatment she needs and, quite frankly, deserves.” He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down, and their spat is slowly starting to attract the attention in the room. There’s a couple of patients and their families looking at them, trying to figure out what this is about. Out of the corner of his eye, Nate can see Brad, standing with his arms crossed next to Mike, and wonders how Brad always manages to be in the right place at the right time, but he quickly forces his attention back on Ferrando. 

Ferrando laughs. “The patient received all the treatment she is entitled to.” Schwetje and Griego try to step into the conversation, but Ferrando waves them away. “You’re seriously overstepping here, Fick.” 

Nate grits his teeth, but says nothing. 

“What you don’t understand is that this-” Ferrando waves Annie’s file around - “Is only one case. Do you know how many of these I see on a daily basis? We are running a deficit as is, Fick. A hefty deficit. And now you want me to spend thousands of dollars in treatment and salaries on one patient, with zero chance of it getting reimbursed. This isn’t Santa’s Little Workshop. We do have to pay our bills.” His whispery voice is creepily loud in Nate’s ear. 

Again, Nate says nothing, because there is nothing to say.

Suddenly, there’s movement at his left. Nate turns his head slightly to see Brad walking up and stopping next to Nate. Brad does not look at Nate or acknowledge him in any other way, but the sight of him makes Nate’s heart slow from a frantic staccato to a more manageable speed. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Colbert.” Ferrando’s eyes stare at Brad. Brad, however, has a few inches on the Chief Physician and makes use of every single one of them. The intimidating effect of Ferrando’s cold eyes seems to be limited when he has to cock his head up. 

“This is none of your fucking concern. I’d strongly suggest you go back to your work, nurse.” Ferrando adds. 

Brad’s voice, when he replies, is even and measured. “With all due respect, Sir, I won’t.” His presence is firm and steady beside Nate. 

If Ferrando is thrown by this reply, he doesn’t show it. “So what? You two think just because you stage a protest, I’ll give in?” 

The two of them stand there, silent, waiting for their boss’ next move. 

The silence seems to extend, until it encompasses the entire room. Nate is sure that around them, patients are still being treated, people are still moving, but if they do, he can’t hear it. All he can think of is Brad next to him, jumping into this fight. It really shouldn’t be any of Brad’s concern - he wasn’t even on duty when Annie came in - and yet he still stands on Nate’s left, looking down at Ferrando, waiting. 

After a long minute, Ferrando nods. “I see how it is.” 

Nate can feel Brad loosen up, just a bit, and that’s enough to know that they won this fight. Ferrando mumbles something about consequences, but all Nate can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. 

He watches Ferrando slink away, followed by Schwetje and Griego, and feels a hand on his shoulder. 

It’s Mike’s, who’s laughing and yet all Nate can do is look at Brad in wordless wonder. 

Nate knows he’s staring now, openly staring, but Brad doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, all Brad does is shrug his shoulder and smile, one of those half-smiles that Nate came to covet so much. “Couldn’t let you do the selfless deed all by yourself, Fick.” He says, bumping his shoulders slightly into Nate’s. 

Suddenly, something heavy bumps into Nate’s back. “Did you guys seriously start a revolution without waiting for your best friend Ray-Ray?” Ray shrieks, sounding honestly outraged and hurt. 

This, finally, breaks the tension. “Don’t worry, Ray, we would have called you if we’d needed a scapegoat.” Brad says, making Nate and Mike laugh. 

“Typical. Using the poor as cannon fodder. I see how it is.” Ray grumbles, but Brad pokes him.

“You know what, Ray.” Brad says, and Nate has never heard him use this kind of a voice on Ray, but then, this turns out to be a day full of surprises.

“I’ll get you a coffee. To celebrate our success.” They start walking away, the sound of their laughter following after them. Nate stays behind in the silence, taking a deep breath. 

___________

DAY 9

From: c.schwetje@mathildahostpital.org  
To: ER_allstaff@mathildahospital.org  
Sent: Monday 8/20 10:15  
Subject: Re: Re: FWD: Quarantine Drill

Dear All,

As touched on by my previous announcement, this is a reminder for the quarantine drill due to take place later today.  
Please take some time to refer to the attached follow-up report from last year’s drill as well as the standard operating procedure for infectious disease drills.  
Separate meeting invitations for post-mortem discussions and meetings will be sent out later on to respective members of staff.  
If you do have any questions, please refer to Dr Fick in the first instance. 

C Schwetje  
Head of ER  
Mathilda General Hospital  
A NATIONAL LEADER IN CARE

Mathilda General Hospital is ranked #3 in California 

Please consider the environment before printing this email.

Brad can see Nate’s face lose colour, and that in itself is worrying enough to make him walk over to where Nate is standing near the copier, phone in his hand. 

Nate looks up to him as Brad approaches, and looks down at his phone, a slightly guilty expression on his face. 

“Have you read Schwetje’s email?” Nate asks. 

Brad gives him a second to understand what a ridiculous question this is, and it seems to work, as Nate sighs. 

“I forgot. You probably haven’t read a single one of his emails.” 

“Guilty as charged.” Brad says, lazily. Now that he knows Schwetje is behind Nate’s concern, he is relieved. Nothing Schwetje does or says could ever be worth worrying over, in Brad’s opinion. 

Nate huffs. “Well, I did.” He squares his shoulders and puts his phone away. 

“That’s your own fault, then.” Brad says, trying to draw a laugh out of Nate. It doesn’t quite work, but the harried look is gone. 

Nate looks down the corridor, and leans into Brad. Brad finds himself bending down to hear what Nate is whispering. 

“It seems like I forgot to find some dead people.” 

The complete incongruity of the statement throws Brad for a second before he remembers that horrible-no-good-day where Schwetje’s request pushed Nate almost over the edge. His mind wanders to that minute in the elevator, when he and Nate were so close they were almost touching, and he has to take a deep breath to center himself in the moment. 

“I can help you with that.” 

Nate looks at Brad, cocking his head. “I need them in two hours.” 

In reply, Brad simply nods, and he is relieved to see a smile spreading over Nate’s face. 

“Nothing you can’t do, right, Colbert?” Nate says, still in a low murmur that sends shivers down Brad’s spine. 

“Just trying my best, Fick.” Brad replies, equally low-pitched. 

Nate chuckles deeply and moves away. Brad misses his presence immediately. He can feel Nate touch his upper arm - a caress rather than a slap - before he walks away. 

“Don’t disappoint me, Colbert. Two hours.” Nate says over his shoulder, and Brad mock-salutes him as he watches him walk away. 

__________

Brad finds Ray sitting in the back of his ambulance, shirtless, trying to tan. Walt is nowhere to be seen as Brad walks up to Ray and kicks him in the legs. Ray protests, opens his eyes, and smiles lazily at Brad. 

“What’s up, homes.” Ray sounds happy and relaxed. He pats the empty space next to him. 

Brad ignores the gesture. “I can’t believe I am saying this, Ray, but we need your unique skill set.” 

Ray screeches in excitement, gets up and puffs his chest out. “I knew this day would come, Brad.” Before Brad can react, Ray wraps his arms around him and gives him a hug. “I’m your man, Bradley, whatever you need.” 

Brad disentangles himself from Ray’s floppy arms and takes a step back. “Great. You’ll be dead in 6 hours.” Ray makes protest sounds, but Brad pulls a leaflet out of his back pocket and hands it to Ray. “Here’s a list of symptoms you will develop. I assume you have some sort of medical certification, but in case you got this job by accident, please ask Walt what any of this means. Don’t fuck this up.” 

He starts to walk away. “And Ray?” 

Ray looks up from the paper. “Please put your shirt back on.” 

_______

Brad really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s Ray Person, after all. 

But still. He did not expect Ray show up in the ER, right on time for once in his life, clutching a bloody handkerchief - Brad wonders for a second where he got the blood from, until he decides it’s none of his business, as long as it’s either fake or Ray’s. Additionally, Ray is faltering at the ER Reception counter, clutching the wooden counter to hold himself upright. 

Brad has to admire his dedication - Ray is explaining his symptoms loudly to a stone-faced Garza, who has no choice but to patiently endure this spectacle. 

Mike walks up to Brad. “I can’t believe you recruited Person as Patient Zero.” They both watch Ray dramatically stagger to one of the seats. The woman next to him is pulling her daughter away from Ray, and Ray plops down in his seat. Brad thinks he might be drooling. 

“Well, I figured I might as well ask the best for the job.” 

Mike chuckles, and they watch Ray wave his handkerchief around. Brad sincerely hopes it’s fake blood, but because he knows Ray, he doubts it. “All I’m saying is, you just committed the cardinal sin of parenting.”

Brad turns around to face Mike. “What do you mean?”

“You’re encouraging his bad behaviour.” There’s a screech, and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Brad and Mike turn around to see Ray Person lying on the ground, spread across the floor, convulsing. The other patients are eyeing him warily. The lady who was sitting next to Ray is comforting her now sobbing child. One guy runs up to the reception desk and thumps at the glass, screaming angrily at Garza. 

Neither Brad nor Mike move. 

“Wait. Did you just imply that Ray is my child?” Brad asks as Ray is being lifted onto a stretcher by Garza. Ray makes an effort to sit up, but Garza pushes him back down and rolls the stretcher through the ER doors. 

Ray lifts his fist as he is being rolled past Mike and Brad. “Brad, I’m about to die.” He coughs theatrically and rolls to his side, almost falling off the stretcher before Garza notices and pushes him back, none too gently. 

“Outstanding, Ray.” Brad says, watching him being wheeled into a trauma room. He turns back to Mike. “Let me assure you, Mike, I would have drowned him at birth.”

Brad hears a quiet chuckle behind him, and of course it’s Nate, holding a notepad and clutching a coffee cup. 

“Sorry to interrupt you, but it seems like we just admitted a new patient.” Nate says, stopping at Brad’s right. In the background, they can hear Ray wail in the room, and Brad wonders what Garza did to him. 

“Coming with you.” Brad says, because he feels at least partially responsible for releasing Ray Person onto the public in general and Nate in particular. 

When they enter the trauma room, Garza looks relieved. “Finally. Perhaps you can tell him that he can stop this now.”

“I’m dying, Garza. Dying!” Ray exclaims. Brad can see that Garza must have tried tying Ray to the stretcher, but the patient seems to have wiggled himself out of the restraints somehow. 

Garza just flips him the bird, laughs and leaves the room. 

Nate walks up to the stretcher and starts taking Ray’s temperature. “What seems to be the problem here?” His voice is gentle and patient, and Brad never admired him more than he does in this very moment. 

Ray coughs. “My lungs hurt.” He coughs again, clearly fake, convincing absolutely nobody that this is a genuine emergency. 

“No they don’t.” Nate says decisively, motioning at Brad to hold Ray down while he’s drawing some blood. “You must have confused your lungs with your throat.” Brad rolls his eyes, but does put his hand on Ray’s shoulder. 

Ray stops coughing immediately. “Oh. I guess it really is my throat that hurts, doctor.” He slides down on the stretcher, legs bouncing. 

Nate smiles, and hands Brad a vial of blood. “This has to go to the lab, immediately.” 

Brad nods and takes the vial. He thinks he might bring it to the lab. Ray might as well get something out of this, even if it’s just a new round of lab results showing that everything is okay. 

Nate returns his attention to Ray, holding a clipboard. “Okay. So let’s ignore the lungs for now. What are your other symptoms?”

Ray looks at Nate uncertainly. “Um. I have a fever?” Nate nods, and patiently writes something on his noteboard. His dedication to the ruse is the only thing that keeps Brad from walking out of this room. If Nate takes this seriously, Brad will at least try to do the same. 

“What else, Ray?” Nate prompts, and Ray looks at Brad. Brad sighs. Ray had one job. He stares at Ray, who looks away quickly. 

“What about nausea?” Nate prompts. 

“Oh yeah. Nausea. So bad. And vomit, of course. Vomit everywhere, just can’t stop it. It’s just constant..” Ray exclaims. “You wouldn’t believe the mess I made in the bus on my way here.” 

Nate chuckles and scribbles some more notes. “Sorry to hear that, Ray.” 

“No problem, doc. I just hope it’s nothing serious.” Ray laughs. 

______

“Oh no. It seems like we have a case of Ebola.” Brad says in a completely disinterested voice, looking at Ray’s lab results. “Or it’s mad cow disease.”

Nate gently elbows him in his side, leaning over to take the results. They are all completely normal. “I have never seen results like this.” Nate says. “I’m afraid you are right, Brad.” He looks at Brad with wide eyes. “There’s only one thing to do. Start the emergency protocol.” 

Brad rolls his eyes, but walks over to the phone. This is going to be a long day. 

_______

“I can’t believe he convinced Schwetje to give Walt visiting rights.” Brad grumbles.

“I mean, it is kind of sweet.” Nate says, watching Walt in a hazmat suit leaning over Ray on his bed. 

“You have a very weird understanding of romance, Nate.” Brad answers. They are sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. 

“You know we can hear everything you’re saying?” Ray says, lifting his head. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

Brad waves his arm around the room, wordlessly making his point - the room they are in is so small Brad can almost touch both walls at the same time. It’s also hot, because the air conditioning has been turned off. The last two hours have taught Brad one thing: Quarantines - especially fake ones - are, above all, a practise in patience. 

Ray is still staring at him, so Brad motions at him to continue. “I promise you, Ray, I’m trying to listen as little as possible to whatever verbal diarrhea you are about to inflict on Walt.” 

Ray glares at him and plonks back down on the bed. Walt’s yellow hazmat suit crinkles as he takes Ray’s hand. 

Next to Brad, Nate shifts. Brad hopes Nate isn’t getting up for another round of stretching because he still hasn’t recovered from the sight of Nate bent over, effortlessly touching his toes. Thankfully, Nate only reaches for his bottle of water and takes a sip. 

“Walt, I need to tell you something.” Ray says with an urgent tone in his voice. “The pizza place actually does offer Hawaiian Pizza, I just told you they don’t because I hate pineapples.” 

“What the fuck,” Nate mutters under his breath, and Brad can’t help but agree. 

“It’s okay, Ray. I kinda knew that.” Walt replies, and all Brad can do is watch Ray gaze lovingly at the face window in Walt’s hazmat suit. 

“And your nice cashmere sweater didn’t get eaten by a stray cat, I washed it too hot and it shrunk and I panicked and buried it in the backyard.” Ray says, agitated. 

“I also kinda knew that, Ray.” Walt answers, endlessly patient, patting Ray’s hand.

Next to Brad, Nate starts to shake slightly, and Brad turns towards him, worried that the only other sane person in this room is starting to lose it too. 

Nate’s face is red, and silent tears are running down his face. He has one hand in front of his mouth, and is staring intently at his toes. It takes a second for Brad to realize that Nate is trying very, very hard not to laugh. 

This is bonkers, and Brad is not quite sure how he ended up here. But as matters stand, he is the only lucid person left, and that won’t do. They still have two hours until Ray will die. 

He slowly reaches out to touch Nate’s thigh, not allowing himself to linger there, even though he wants to. Nate, still desperately trying to suppress his laughter, either does not notice, or does not care. Brad finds a good spot and pinches hard. 

Nate’s leg bolts, but Ray and Walt don’t notice.

Slowly, Nate’s breath and face colour returns to normal. “Thanks,” Nate mumbles, and Brad simply nods. 

Whatever hope Brad had at getting the situation back under control vanishes with Ray’s next words. 

“Walt, I think I’m really gonna die this time and I want you to know -” Walt makes a motion to shut Ray up, but Ray continues. “I want you to know, you made my life a happy one.” 

Brad shouldn’t be surprised - he’s seen how happy Ray is around Walt, how much Walt has calmed Ray down- and yet hearing it put plainly like this hits Brad unexpectedly. He can’t help but smile at the happiness of his friend. 

“I’ve loved you since pretty much the first time I laid eyes on you, and I’ll love you forever, even after I’m gone, but I want you to move on.” Walt seems to want to protest, but Ray continues. “No, Walt. Promise. Promise me you’ll be happy again.” 

“I promise,” Walt says, and it sounds like he’s crying, though it’s hard to tell because of the hazmat suit. 

Brad shakes his head. They are back in insanity county. 

“Walt, I think I’m dying.” Ray says, one hand slung over his eyes, the other hand still in Walt’s grasp. 

“Um, you still have a good two hours, Ray.” Nate interjects from beside Brad. Brad looks at him, surprised, but Nate just shrugs his shoulders. 

Undeterred, and a tick louder, Ray continues. “I can feel the end is coming.” 

Brad sighs. 

“Walt, I don’t want to die.” Ray says. 

“Can’t say the same.” Brad says, quietly to Nate, and Nate chuckles. 

“I don’t want you to go.” Walt says, and now Brad is convinced that Walt’s crying in that suit. 

A knock on their door interrupts them. “Time’s up!” A voice yells from outside, and Ray cries out. 

“No, Walt!” he clings to Walt’s hand, and Walt seems utterly reluctant to leave. 

Nate gets up, and Brad follows.

“Love you, Ray.” Walt says, slowly walking away. 

“Love you too, Walt.” Ray answers, curled up on the bed, facing the wall. 

The door to their room quietly opens and closes again, and Walt’s gone. The silence is so oppressive that Brad feels compelled to speak up. 

“How the fuck do you not like pineapple on your pizza?”

Outraged, Ray leaps off the bed. “Pineapple on pizza is a crime, and you know it.” 

________

“Time of death: 3.57.” Nate says, his voice grave. Ray appreciates the sincerity Nate brings to this exercise. If he ever dies, he’d like to have a doctor who cares as much as Nate does. 

Brad writes down the time on the patient file, which is completely bogus, but Ray needs to get hold of, because he know Brad will use it against him if he doesn’t. 

“Oh, cool.” Ray says, sitting up from the bed, trying to snatch the paper out of Brad’s hand. Brad, the lanky bastard, simply holds it above Ray’s head. “Can I get out of here now? I really need to pee.” That’s part of the truth, but the other part is that Ray has seen the looks Brad and Nate have given each other since this drill started, and Ray also has a nice sum of money riding on them getting together within the next four days, so those two really need to get their shit together if they want to make Ray happy. 

“Shut up, Ray. You’re supposed to be dead.” Brad says, handing Nate the file for counter-signing. Ray wonders if he’s technically legally dead now, with the real signatures and everything. It might make for a good prank. 

Nate signs the file, and looks back at Ray. “You know, you make a really good fake patient.” 

Ray bows, because he likes being appreciated. He walks up to Nate, and snatches the file from him before Brad can intervene. 

“Well, my esteemed colleagues, this was fun and all, but I need to get going.” Ray says, walking towards the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but remember, they don’t have cameras in these rooms. At least Walt and I hope so.” He opens the door and sees two people in hazmat suits standing outside. 

When they gesture at him to get back inside, he waves his file in their faces. “It’s cool, I’m dead. See you later, alligator.” The last is directed at Brad and Nate, who stand frozen in the quarantine room. 

“Ray.” Brad’s stern voice makes Ray turn around, the door handle still in his hand. “What do you mean.” 

And Ray loves Brad, he really does. That’s why he tries to not let the happiness creep into his voice too much. Sometimes, Brad needs to learn the hard way. 

“Why, Brad. Surely you must know that the quarantine continues until the incubation period is over. Which should be in …” Brad looks about ready to pounce on Ray, so Ray pretends to look at his watch. “Twelve hours. This was all mentioned in that handout you gave me, sugar.” 

Ray can see the penny drop. Brad stares at Ray, eyes wide, and closes them briefly. Ray smiles his brightest, most shit-eating smile when Brad curses under his breath.

“Nate, I trust you to take care of Brad!” Ray yells. Nate doesn’t answer, but Ray does not wait around. Instead, he throws Brad a lazy salute, and closes the door behind him. 

He turns to the guys in hazmat suits. “Now, and this is very important, do not let anyone in there for the next twelve hours, understood?” 

The guys nod and Ray walks on. He’s done his duty. The rest is up to Nate and Brad. 

_______

“I can’t believe I forgot about the incubation period.” Brad says, still looking at the door. “But at least we have gotten rid of Ray, I suppose.” 

From where he is sitting on the floor, Nate snorts. “I overheard you defending Ray’s honour when Pappy questioned his sanity, you know.” 

“It was less his honour and more his skills that I defended” Brad retorts, leaning his back against the door, watching Nate. “Though I’m not sure I would do the same again, now that I had to watch this display of emotions, even though it has provided me with enough blackmail material to last for a good while.” 

Nate smiles, and so Brad does the same despite the nervous feeling in his stomach. This is, Brad realizes with surprise, the first time that he and Nate are alone. Sure, they sometimes socialize outside work, but only with others. Except now, there’s only them, and it will be for the next couple of hours. 

“Not something you’re interested in?” 

“Tearful declarations of love that frankly even the most ardent reader of romance novels would consider too much? No thanks.” Brad replies. 

Nate snorts and throws his water bottle in the air, effortlessly catching it before throwing it up again. The movement captures Brad’s eyes, and he follows the water bottle making its way up and down. Up and down. 

“No, I mean the relationship bit.” Nate says eventually, catching the bottle a final time before settling it in his lap. His fingers start tapping on the cap, and it is the restlessness of his movements that make Brad think that Nate is perhaps nervous about this conversation. 

“I guess. I mean.” Brad does not like rambling, so he catches himself before he jabbers on. He takes a moment to think about how he can put this. Nate is sitting on the bed, patiently waiting for him to continue. 

“Not the deceit about pineapple pizza. But I suppose it would be nice if someone came to visit if I was ever stuck in a real quarantine.” He thinks, but since Nate started this discussion, it’s only fair if Brad gets to ask, as well. 

“What about you? Surely, there must be some New England parents who would have loved to welcome the esteemed Doctor Fick into their family.” Brad tries to keep his voice neutral, tries not to show how long he has wondered about this and how important the answer is to him. 

Nate shrugs. “Turns out the children of said New England parents aren’t too interested once they realize how much I work, how little I am at home, and that dates tend to be rescheduled constantly due to emergencies at work.” 

It’s pretty much what Brad figured, but then Nate continues, talking haltingly. “It might also be said that I never saw the sense in checking out New England’s bachelors, not when I found something better here.” 

It’s as close as either of them has ever come to talking about this, and Brad does not know how to respond. Once again, Brad is surprised by Nate’s boldness, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. Nate seems to sense Brad’s confusion, because he smiles. 

“Anyway. That’s a bit of a heavy talk for the middle of the night, especially without beer.” Nate says, and Brad nods. This isn’t the right place for this kind of conversation, not when both of them are bone tired and can’t walk away from it if they wanted to. 

“It’s late, Nate.” Brad says, looking at Nate. “Let’s go to sleep.” 

“Yeah. You take the bed, I’ll just nap on the floor.” Nate replies. 

Brad says nothing, hoping his silence will communicate the idiocy of the plan. As if he’d let Nate sleep on the floor. Nate, with his dark circles under his eyes. For once, neither of them is in any danger of getting woken up for an emergency. Nate deserves a couple of good, uninterrupted sleep, Brad thinks. 

Nate sighs. “C’mon, Brad, there’s just one bed. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.” 

“I’ve slept in worse places.” Brad says stubbornly, because it’s true. 

Nate shakes his head slowly instead and looks at the bed. Brad looks at it as well. It’s not a big bed, but then most beds are small by Brad’s standards. 

“Please, Brad.” Nate says, quietly, pointing at the bed, and his sincerity almost gets the better of Brad. 

“I’m not gonna sleep in a bed while you’re sleeping on the ground.” Brad says instead. 

Nate huffs through his nose, which Brad finds really endearing. “Okay. Fine. You know what?” Nate walks toward the bed. “I’m not going to let you sleep on the ground, and you won’t do the same for me.” He plonks down on the bed. “So either we both sleep in the bed, or neither of us gets any sleep at all.” He looks at Brad and takes a deep breath. 

“Get your ass in the bed, Brad.” 

Brad looks at him. It’s the obvious solution, and Brad would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped for this outcome. 

Nate looks back, unafraid. “Oh, c’mon, Brad. As if you hadn’t come to the same conclusion.” He carefully pats the space next to him. “We’ll make do. As you said, you’ve slept in worse places.”

Slowly, Brad walks up to the bed and lies down. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of his body and how much space it takes up. He usually likes his height, likes being able to look down on most people, but now, trying to fit, he is reminded of his teenage days, where he was sticking out like a beanpole. 

Next to him, Nate shuffles around, trying to make more space. Brad moves down a bit to keep his legs from banging against the footboard of the bed, but the only way to do that is to put them over Nate’s. Brad mumbles an apology, but Nates just waves him off. The movement brings Nate’s shoulder in contact with Brad’s chest, and Nate doesn’t move away from the touch, so neither does Brad. 

It’s nice, Brad thinks. Nate’s breathing quietly next to him, a steady presence that grounds Brad into the moment. 

“Good night, Brad.” Nate says quietly. 

“Good night, Nate.” Brad replies. 

Nate’s breath evens out quickly, confirming Brad’s suspicions about his sleeping schedule lately. Brad stays awake far longer, forcing himself to stay awake to cherish this moment. 

_______

“Time’s up.” Schwetje says to Mike, waving a clipboard around. 

Mike, who has seen more of the clipboard - and Schwetje - in the last 24 hours than he ever wanted, sighs deeply. Time to get Nate and Brad out of there. 

On his way out, Ray had told Mike his genius plan, but Mike doubted it would be this easy when it came to those two. If sleep deprivation was all it took those two to get together, the ship would have sailed long ago. 

Still, he catches Schwetje on his way to the quarantine room.

“Sir?” Mike says, and Schwetje turns around. 

“I’ll get Colbert and Fick. I’m sure there’s plenty for you to do.” 

Schwetje stares at him, eyes empty of any recognition, and Mike sighs. “I’m sure there’s all kinds of forms you have to fill out?” He prompts. Nothing. “A powerpoint to prepare?”

At that, Schwetje’s face lights up. “That’s a great idea, Mike.” He looks at his clipboard, squinting. “I’m sure a Powerpoint will be really useful in my all-staff debrief.” 

Mike curses quietly, but decides that this will be a problem for Future-Mike. For now, he watches Schwetje make his way to his office, and makes sure nobody’s around when he opens the door to the quarantine room - just in case. 

The sight makes him stop in his tracks. Nate and Brad, both taller-than-average-men, have somehow managed to fit themselves onto an average-sized hospital bed. They are sleeping soundly, Nate curled into Brad, and Brad holding closely to him. 

Mike takes another look at them. He shakes his head. Ray Person might be a romantic genius after all. 

Softly, he closes the door behind him, making sure to put the ‘quarantine - do not enter’ sign back on the door.  
____

Brad wakes slowly. It takes him a moment to understand where he is - the light is different than in his bedroom, and he’s warm and content. He starts to turn on instinct until a small noise makes him freeze mid-motion. 

He opens his eyes and his brain suddenly springs into activity. Nate. That noise came from Nate, who’s currently lying in his arms, sleeping soundly. Brad blinks, and blinks again, but Nate’s still there. 

Forced to face the fact that he is indeed -for lack of a better word - snuggling with Nate, Brad tries to explain how they got here before it all comes back to him. The stupid ebola drill, and the quarantine station with the tiny bed. Now that he thinks about it, Brad realizes he is lying on the very edge of the bed. He carefully moves more of his body weight forward. Instead of waking, Nate smiles and sleeps on. 

Brad’s not sure how to go from here. Once Nate wakes up, things are sure to become awkward. Perhaps he should leave while he can, and pretend this never happened. Surely, the quarantine must be lifted by now, and even if not, Brad’s sure he can talk his way out of it. 

He starts to move his left arm from where it is currently resting against Nate’s chest. As he’s removing his arm, Nate makes a distressed sound which causes Brad to freeze instantly. Nate sniffles and presses himself harder against Brad. 

There’s no way he’ll be able to get up without Nate waking, Brad realizes. Nate is overdue for some undisturbed sleep, no matter how awkward the wake up will be. 

So he forces himself to relax, sinking back into Nate. In his arms, Nate makes a small noise of contentment, but does not stir. Brad exhales slowly, careful not to wake Nate. 

And if he finds himself mentally cataloguing every detail of this - the small noises Nate makes, the way his heart beats against Brad’s hand, the disheveled state of Nate’s hair - then nobody is here to tell Brad off. He can have this for a moment more. 

____

Nate is having a very confusing morning. It all started with waking up being what he can only call embraced by Brad. It was nice, and Nate wouldn’t have minded it lasting longer, but as soon as Nate woke up, Brad bolted out of the bed, mumbling apologies under his breath. 

Nate, still quite sleepy at this point, started to apologize as well when they were interrupted by an insistent and loud knock at the door. 

Mike entered and looked at Nate in a way that told Nate he knew exactly what happened in the room. At least that made one of them. 

And before any of them could say anything, Schwetje entered the room, which explained why Nate now found himself looking at his boss, but thinking about something else entirely. 

“So, yeah, Nate. Excellent work.” Schwetje says, drawing Nate’s thoughts back to the present. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Brad sneaking towards the door, and Nate focuses his gaze on him, trying to convey to Brad that they will talk about this. Brad looks at Nate, flashes a smile, and shrugs, pointing at Schwetje. Nate smiles back, and Brad quietly leaves the room. 

“Also. Patterson had to call in sick, so do you mind covering his shift?” Schwetje asks. 

DAY 10

“Hey Walt.” Ray sounds lazy. Their day just started, and they are sitting in their ambulance, waiting for their first call, so Walt decides to indulge him. 

“Yes, Ray?”

“Why do EMTs travel in pairs of two?” 

Walt rolls his eyes. He can tell already this will be stupid. “I don’t know, Ray. Why do they.”

“Because they want to be ‘pair’medics.” Ray laughs at his own joke, and spills some coffee on his uniform pants. 

“I cannot believe I am in a relationship with you.” Walt says, digging into the sideboard to find some napkins. 

Whatever Ray wanted to reply - and judging from his outraged face, it would have been a rant worth remembering - was cut short by the sound of the alarm. 

Walt held up his hand, fiddling with the radio knob to turn up the volume while Ray starts the engine. 

It’s a stroke. Nothing they haven’t seen. It’s fairly okay, as far as strokes go - the victim is still responsive when they load him in the vehicle, and Ray tells his family they are bringing him to Mathilda. 

It’s only on their way there that things start going sideways. 

Ray is in the front driving, so all he hears is Walt’s quiet “Oh Shit”, followed by a cacophony of outraged alarms. He doesn’t need to check. He flips the button for the siren and floors it. 

He thought they made good time. He thought they were good enough.

It’s only when he gets to the loading bay at Mathilda that he realizes they weren’t. 

When he opens the back doors, yelling at Garza to get moving, Walt sits in the back, head in his hands. The patient lies on the stretcher, unnaturally still. 

Walt jumps out of the vehicle when Ray waves Garza off and unloads their stretcher. When Ray tries to walk after him, Walt yells at him to fuck off.

Ray watches him walk away, not sure how the day went from great to horrible in just a few minutes.

________

“Nate?” Mike’s voice interrupts Nate as he’s staring at the whiteboard in the ER reception area, trying to figure out how he could shuffle patients around to make space for the kid with the ear infection. 

“There’s someone here to see you.” Mike says, gently, and Nate turns around to see him standing next to a woman sitting in a wheelchair and a guy standing behind it.

“I guess I looked a bit different when you saw me last time,'' she says, and the guy behind her grimaces. 

Nate looks at her, still trying to place her, when Mike says “She’s the traffic accident victim.” 

And Nate takes his word for it - he never looked at her face, and even if he had, it would have been covered in blood. 

“I just wanted to say thanks.” the woman says. “I was told you’re the one who saved my life.” She lifts her hand and Nate shakes it. 

He’s never quite certain what the social protocol for these situations are - he tries to avoid them as much as he can. He became a doctor to save lives, that’s true. But there is an undeniable egoism to his work, one that his patients don’t always see.

Risk is an essential part of Nate’s job. But he doesn’t play with his own life.

He shakes his head. “Thanks, but it wasn’t just me. Your surgeon did a hell of a job, too.” Then he remembers the state in which she was brought in. “And the EMTs. And the fire department. It was more of a group effort.”

The woman chuckles and winces. “Don’t make me laugh. Broken rib.”

“Ribs. Plural.” The guy behind her speaks up. “I’m her fiance. I just wanted to thank you, too.”

Nate shakes his hand as well, in the hopes of speeding this whole thing up. He can see Ray out of the corner of his eye, but instead of making fun of Nate, Ray just stares and walks away. Probably getting Walt to get in on the joke, Nate thinks.

“Well, I’m glad you are making a good recovery.” Mike says. “Take care.”

“Will do.” The woman says, and her fiance wheels her away.

Once they are out of sight, Nate grimaces at Mike. “That was awkward.”

“Not for them, it wasn’t.” Mike says. “You may be in here every day, but they hopefully won’t be back any time soon.”

“Wise words, Mike.” Nate says, returning his attention to the whiteboard. 

“You’d be wise too, if you bothered to listen to me.” Mike chuckles and points at the board. “If you move Mr Espinoza to H4, you could cram the pneumonia into B12, which would give you a bed for the kid.” With that, he taps Nate on his shoulder and leaves. 

______

Brad can see something’s wrong by the way Ray sneaks up to him. It’s not sneaking, not really, but Brad can see the defeat in the way Ray’s holding his shoulders and trying to make himself look smaller than he already is. 

Sighing, Brad puts the file away and looks at Ray. “Whatever it is, Ray, I can assure you it’s not cancer. But I would be willing to have a look at it, as long as it’s not your dick.” He pauses for a second. “Again.”

Ray doesn’t laugh, and instead just lifts one shoulder. Alarm bells start ringing in Brad’s mind. Things must be bad for Ray to miss out on a dick joke, even one at his own expense. 

“What’s up, Ray.” Brad asks, softly. 

“I need a favor.” Ray says, still not looking up from the floor. 

“Whatever you need.” Brad says, without hesitating, because that’s the way it goes between them - they might make fun of each other, might drive each other crazy, but Brad has Ray’s back, just as Ray has Brad’s. Just because they don’t need to say it, doesn’t mean it’s not true. 

Ray finally looks up at Brad. His eyes are bloodshot, his hands are trembling, but Brad knows Ray is on his last night shift, and that’s all par for the course. What really gets Brad is the hopelessness in Ray’s eyes. 

“Walt lost a patient earlier.” Ray says, evenly breathing out. “He did everything he could, I know he did, but -” His voice trails off.

Brad nods. “He’s taking it hard?” It’s not even a question. They all do. They know they can’t save everyone, but that doesn’t mean guilt isn’t eating all of them alive. 

Ray nods. “I just…”

The sight of Ray being lost for words makes Brad’s heart ache. He gently takes Ray by the elbow and leads them into a corridor, away from prying eyes and the noise of the ER. 

Ray exhales. “Can you talk to him?” 

Brad frowns. “You want me to talk to Walt?”

Ray nods. “You know.” 

And Brad does, he really does know how much it sucks to lose a patient, but he also prefers to be left alone when he’s in a funk. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, feeling like a coward for trying to find a way out. Nate would be the perfect person to talk to Walt, but there must be a reason Ray came to him and not Nate. Brad curses. Nate would find the right words. Nate would know what to say.

Ray just nods. “He’ll listen to you.” 

“Okay.” Brad says, because what else is there to add. 

“Thanks, Brad.” Ray says, quietly, and Brad feels the responsibility on his shoulders, but he still manages to smile when he answers. 

“No worries, Ray.”

____

He finally finds Walt in the storage room in the basement, hunched over what seems to be the most interesting piece of paper in the world, judging by the attention Walt is harboring upon it. 

“Hey.” Brad says, quietly, not sure how to start this conversation. 

Walt just nods and continues to stare at the paper. 

The silence is oppressive, and Brad doesn’t want to be here, he really doesn’t. This is not something he’s good at. But then he looks at Walt, hunched over, trying to make himself as little as possible, shaking, and Brad knows he can’t leave. 

“Um. Ray told me what happened.” Brad says. It’s possibly not the right thing to say, but it is something, and anything is better than silence. 

Walt just shrugs, but Brad waits him out. Eventually, Walt turns and looks at Brad. “Nothing you can do, Brad. You know how it is. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out.”

His hands hold the notepad in a white-knuckled grip, Brad notices. He knows what it’s like - the guilt and the ‘what ifs’ creating a black hole in your mind that swallows all objective thinking. He’s been there, and he will be there again. It’s only a matter of time in this job. 

Slowly, Brad leans against the shelf closest to him. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.” 

Walt wimpers, a tiny sound in the silence of the room, and Brad remains still, watching his friend. 

He wishes there was an easy fix, a set of words he could use to make this better, but he knows there isn’t. All he can do is be here for Walt, sitting this out with him, letting him know he’s not alone. 

They stand there, in silence. 

Eventually, Brad speaks up again. “Go home Walt.” Walt looks up, shocked, hurt, and Brad continues. “Go home and watch a stupid movie and let Ray take care of you. He might behave like a pet that’s not house-trained yet, but he means well.”

Walt smiles, a sad small smile, and Brad continues. “He’s worried about you, so go home, let him fuss over you, and try again tomorrow.” 

He claps Walt on his shoulder. “I want you to know that you’re doing a hell of a job, and it wasn’t your fault. Life isn’t fair, and it’s never fair in here.” 

Walt takes a deep breath and nods. “Thanks, Brad.” 

When Walt opens the door, Ray is outside, waiting for him. 

“Hey, Walt.” Ray says, very quietly, which is so unlike Ray that Brad can’t take his eyes away from it. 

“You okay?” Ray asks. 

“Not really.” Walt says. “Let’s go home, okay?” He hugs Walt, and Ray’s eyes meet Brad’s. Over Walt’s shoulder, Ray mouths ‘Thank you!’. 

Brad waves it off. He did nothing, really. 

He looks at the pair slowly walking away, Ray’s arm still around Walt’s shoulder, and suddenly thinks that he wants this too. 

The thought so distracts him that he doesn’t hear a person approaching.

“How cute.” Poke says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

Brad hums noncommittally, and bans the thought about Nate and waking up next to Nate and going home with Nate in a very far corner of his brain. 

“White boy going to be alright?” Poke asks, genuinely worried, and Brad sighs. 

“He will be.” There’s a beat of silence. “As well as can be, seeing that he willingly hangs out with Person outside of work hours.” 

Poke laughs. 

“So why are you hiding around in the basement, Poke? Are you hiding some stash? Stolen goods?” Brads asks. 

Poke chuckles. “See, this is the problem with you guys. You just racially profiled me without even knowing you did. Check your unconscious bias, my friend.”

“Poke, that bias isn’t unconscious.” 

Poke laughs and fist-bumps Brad. 

“Nah, Brad. I was talking to my lady. Not my fault they ban her to the basement, but better for my peace of mind if I know there won’t be that many guys talking to her.”

“Can’t make a woman’s choice for her, Poke. Thought we talked about this already.”

“Oh, so you’re giving me relationship tips now? Is this what this is? Because if that’s the case, let me tell you to finally put on some man pants and -”

“Poke. Choose your next words very carefully.” 

Thankfully, Poke stops and laughs. “Don’t even need to say it. I know you know what I was about to say.”

Brad says nothing. 

Poke chuckles and continues. “No, the reason I was talking to my girl is because I couldn’t help but notice that everyone has been pretty down lately.”

“When you’re right, you’re right, Poke.” Brad says, and knows that it’s true. They had the traffic accident victim, then the shooting victim, then that stupid quarantine drill. It’s been a lot lately, and Brad can’t help but think of the dark circles under Nate’s eyes. 

“So I was thinking. We need an opportunity to let loose. To shoot the shit. Outside this madhouse. Basically, we need a good old backyard BBQ.” Poke smiles. “And Gina agrees. Day after tomorrow.” 

Brad mentally checks the rota. He’ll be off. So will Nate. 

Poke continues. “I’m sure people can swap shifts. I’ll invite Kocher and his guys as well. This will be amazing. What do you think?” He turns to Brad. 

“I’ll bring the beer.”  
DAY 11

The doorbell rings and Nate curses. At least it’s not work - they would call him - and Nate is reasonably certain that Ray doesn’t know where he lives, so it can’t be that. Still, Nate wonders as he’s walking to his front door. It’s not like he’s friendly with his neighbours - not because he doesn’t want to be, but his work hours are crazy enough to prevent any socializing with the people in his apartment building. 

When he opens the door, all he sees is a woman cradling her left hand in a bloody washcloth. She smiles, though it comes out as a grimace rather than a genuine smile. 

“Um, this is a bit awkward.” She says, slowly raising her hand. “But… you’re a doctor, right?”

Nate nods, waving her in. He knows where this is going. He walks into his bathroom, and points to the toilet. “Sit down.” 

The woman does as she’s told. “I don’t think it’s too bad. It’s just…” her voice trails off as Nate unwraps her hand. It’s not bleeding anymore, which is good. 

“You don’t have health insurance.” Nate says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It’s not her fault, is it. 

She shakes her head. “No. I was hoping you could have a look and tell me how bad it is?”

If it’s worth a trip to the hospital, Nate thinks, but doesn’t say it. It’s not like he can't fault her. Worrying that his face will show his thoughts, he leans over her hand. 

“How did this happen?” He asks, reaching under the sink to get his emergency kit out. 

“Oh God, it’s so embarrassing.” The woman says, looking at him. “I’m Lucy, by the way. I live in apartment 4B.” 

Nate looks up at her and smiles. “Hi Lucy. I’m Nate. So how did this happen?”

“Promise not to laugh?” She says. 

“Lucy, please believe me when I say that this couldn’t possibly be as bad as the worst I have seen just this week. So just tell me, okay?” Nate says, carefully cleaning the wound. It looks nasty, but it should be okay. 

“I was preparing brunch, and cutting up an avocado, when my knife slipped.” Lucy says. “And then there was blood everywhere.” 

“Oh. An avocado wound.” Nate says, tabbing at the last fleck of blood.

“You get these a lot?” Lucy asks. 

“All the time.” Nate says. He starts dressing the wound, but all he can think about is what Brad would say if he were here. Brad has developed a particular disdain for brunch-related injuries, and Nate likes the little rants Brad lets loose after they patched up yet another victim. 

Brad would straighten up to his full height, and look down at Nate, and explain just how stupid people had to be to develop not only a new meal, but a whole variety of injuries to go with that, and how people who cut themselves opening a fruit aren’t fit for life anyway. 

And Nate would nod, and smile, and try not to think about the slow spread of happiness in his stomach, look back up at Brad, and rejoice about being Brad’s confidant, even if it was about as benign as avocado toast rants. 

He finishes up dressing the wound - it looked worse than it was - and puts a bandage on it. “Keep it dry, even though I know that’s gonna be a battle. Go see a doctor if it turns red. Otherwise, you should be all good.”

Lucy looks shocked. “Really? That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Nate confirms, folding up the bloody towel. “You should probably chuck this out, though.” 

Lucy laughs, and takes the towel. “You know. How about I invite you for a coffee? To pay for the excellent care you showed me?” 

Nate’s brain stutters for a moment. Then he smiles, but Lucy must see the answer on his face because her face slowly falls. “Sorry. I mean, thanks. But I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

She bites her lip. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” She stops. “Or a boyfriend.” 

Nate smiles. “Um. It’s not like that.” He turns around, leaving his bathroom, because he really does not want to discuss his love life with a woman he basically just met. He walks Lucy to the front door. 

“Thanks, Nate.” She says. “And I hope it works out. You know.” She smiles, and lifts her bandaged hand in a salute. 

Nate chuckles. “Yeah, me too.” 

____

Brad is out on the beach before the sun rises. It might be stupid to some people, he thinks, but he likes getting up early on his day off. He doesn’t want to waste the best time of the day by sleeping in.

The beach is quiet and empty when he gets there. There’s just a couple of other surfers out this early, and they know each other, enough to know that they’d all rather be left alone. 

It suits Brad, this alone-yet-not-alone arrangement. 

He zips up his wetsuit and steps into the ocean. The water is cold, a welcome way to get rid of the last traces of sleep in his body. He paddles until he reaches the point where the waves break. He inhales, forces his board under the water, and dives. 

He catches his first wave, slowly warming up, getting his body to move. He catches another one, then a third. 

Then, on the fourth one, it clicks. There’s a tricky undercurrent, and it forces Brad to focus his entire attention to the wave. Finally, his mind is empty, blissfully quiet. He rides the wave, thinking about nothing but the water around him and the board below him.

When he gets to the beach, he leaves. He found what he had been looking for. 

The bliss doesn’t stay. One phone call to his mom and two loads of laundry later, Brad can feel the familiar itch under his skin. He needs to move. He sighs and puts on his running shoes. Time to run his heart out. 

It’s not like when he’s on his board. His mind doesn’t go quiet. It’s more that running forces him to focus on his thoughts. 

He thinks about work. The quarantine drill. Nate’s apology gift. That moment he wanted to be by Nate’s side during the fight with Ferrando. Nate looking at him afterwards, as if Brad was the best thing he’d ever seen. Nate. Nate. Nate. Nate. 

Brad suddenly stops. 

I’m tired of running away from this, Brad thinks. Whatever this is. 

He wants Nate. All of him, always. 

_____  
DAY 12

Whether by fluke or by design, Nate is just chaining his bike to Poke’s porch when Brad pulls up in the driveway. All of yesterday’s thoughts come back rushing to Brad’s mind, and he has to swallow before stopping his bike and parking it. 

Nate waits until Brad takes off his helmet to speak. “You know, it is kind of ironic that you would lecture me on road safety whilst riding what basically amounts to a death contraption.” Nate says, pointing at Brad’s bike. He jiggles the chain to make sure his bike is secure, and walks over to Brad. 

“Yes, but I also would never consider riding my bike without a helmet, unlike some other people present.” Brad says, tapping lightly on his helmet to underscore his point. “My point was never about your choice of transport, I merely questioned your approach to personal safety.” 

Nate chuckles as he makes his way to Brad and his bike. “Liar.” 

Brad looks at him, almost offended, but Nate continues. “You want to tell me you never questioned my choice in transport?” He sees Brad struggling to get out of his leather jacket and wordlessly takes Brad’s helmet off him. Brad grunts in appreciation and folds up his jacket. 

“Yes, but never to your face.” Brad admits, opening his backpack to make sure that the beer survived the short trip. “I might have, however, debated the sanity of cycling in urban areas with Ray.” He motions at Nate to hand his helmet back. 

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.” Nate answers. “But I have recently come into possession of a second helmet, so you’ll have to find some other topics to nag me about.” 

“Well, rest assured that I won’t rest until the last pair of chinos is gone from your wardrobe, Doctor Fick.”

“You already divested me of one pair, so I assume you are approaching this topic a bit more proactively.” Nate starts walking slowly towards the house, and Brad falls in step next to him. “Just promise me that I won’t wake up in the middle of the night to see you going through my wardrobe.” 

“Nate, believe me when I say that if I end up in your apartment in the middle of the night, your wardrobe choices is the last thing on my mind.” Brad answers, knowing he’s taking a chance here. They’ve always bantered, but never like this. It doesn’t feel wrong, though. 

Nate stops on top of the stairs, looking at Brad. Brad can hear Poke’s shitty 90s playlist playing in the house, and he is filled by a sudden urge to ask Nate to not go in, to ditch their friends and their plans and just head off, just the two of them, but before Brad can vocalize any of it, or even figure out how to say it, Poke opens the door and waves them in. 

____

Ray makes a straight beeline to Nate as soon as he sees them, with a wary looking Walt trailing behind him. 

Nate sighs, and turns to Brad. “I’d leave now if you want to save your good mood.” 

Brad looks confused, until he sees Ray approaching. He turns to Nate, and says: “You’re on your own there, Doctor. Scream if you want to be rescued.” With that, he walks off, heading towards the bar. 

Nate watches him leave, distracted until a hand clamps down on his arm. 

“Nate.” Ray says, urgently, and if it wasn’t for Walt blushing in the background, Nate could almost believe that this was serious. Instead, he turns around to Ray, nodding at him to go on. 

“So.” Ray says, crossing and uncrossing his arms in front of his chest, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “There’s no easy way to say this.” 

Nate takes in his obvious discomfort, and nods at him to go on. 

So Ray continues. “So. I woke up coughing the other night, and I was thinking -”

Knowing where this is going, Nate interrupts him immediately. “Ray. There is no chance on earth you actually have ebola.” 

Ray seems unconvinced, so Nate continues. “To catch ebola, you’d have to be in immediate exposure to the body fluids of someone who is infected or has recently died of the infection. There are currently no existing cases in the US. So unless you travelled to Central Africa over the weekend, you are fine.”

“That’s what I told you, Ray.” Walt says, finally joining their conversation. He puts one arm around Ray’s shoulder, and jostles him lightly. Ray pushes back, and their playfulness makes Nate smile before he remembers something. 

“Wait. You came to a BBQ, thinking you might be infected with a highly infectious disease?” he asks. 

“You are assuming Ray wouldn’t be willing to throw us all under the bus for a free diagnosis.” Brad’s voice says to Nate’s left. Nate turns, and takes the bottle of beer Brad holds out to him. 

Ray yelps in protest, but it is drowned out by the sound of the speakers suddenly coming to life. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Qtips voice says. “You’re about to witness the world premiere of our new collaboration.”

“Lord have mercy.” Brad says, so quietly that only Nate can hear. 

______

“So Ray doesn’t have ebola, then.” Mike says matter-of-factly, walking up to where Poke and Walt are manning the grill. 

Walt sighs. “I must have told him a dozen times. But you know how he is when he gets something stuck in his brain.” He takes a sip of his beer bottle. “At that point, it’s easier to let Nate deal with it.” 

Mike looks at him, eyebrows raised, and Walt is quick to continue. “I mean I do understand that Nate is busy and stuff, so if I bother him, that’s because nothing else worked, okay?”

Satisfied, Mike returns his attention to the burgers on the BBQ, poking and flipping a patty. 

“Apart from his health, how is this thing going?” Poke asks, pointing out a hot dog that needs rotating. Mike waves him off, and Poke turns his attention to Walt. 

Walt looks at him, questioningly, but Poke continues, waving his beer bottle. “Just because you’re in a relationship with Ray does not mean I won’t grill you for details. Hell, if anything, I’m more intrigued than ever.”

Walt scratches at the label of his beer bottle, starting to pull it off by a corner. “It’s going … well.” He says, slowly beginning to smile. “Like. Really well.”

Poke elbows Mike and points at Walt. “Hell, look at this guy. Gushing like a freshman at the first High School Dance.” Walt shakes his head, but the blush on his cheeks is undeniable. 

“I’m gonna ask him to spend Thanksgiving with my family.” Walt says, glowing.

Mike and Poke start congratulating him, but suddenly, a disturbance at the dessert table interrupts them. All three of them look across the yard to watch Ray, shirt, hair and hands completely covered in cherry pie. Qtip is trying to help disentangling Ray and the pie form that’s currently stuck on Ray’s belly, but only succeeds in spreading the mess even further. Mike chuckles when Brad arrives, head shaking.

Poke returns his attention to Walt. “Well, boy, you better bring a bib.” 

_____ 

“How was your day off?” Nate asks, and Brad thinks about his surf and his run and his realization that it’s time to give up any pretense. “Did you get up at the asscrack of dawn to go for a surf?” He eyes the buffet. Brad’s already done a survey of the goods, and shakes his head when Nate attempts to go for the potato salad. Pappy’s a genius when it comes to surgery, but proper seasoning is beyond his grasp. 

“Of course I did. How else would I get to the beach before all those hipsters who decided they could surf because they went to Australia on their gap year?” He scoffs. “But then, it does take them forever to get into the water, because they spend a good half hour posing for pictures beforehand.” 

Nate bends his head and smiles. It’s a great smile, in Brad’s opinion, quiet and relaxed and a million miles from the mask Nate was wearing all of last week. Seems like Nate had a good day off, too. 

“Well, just remind me to never go to the beach with you.” Nate’s hand hovers over the pasta salad, and he looks at Brad questioningly. Brad nods and motions at him to go for it. Walt’s mom’s recipe is worth the risk of contamination by Ray. 

“Not my fault if you want to snooze the day away, my good doctor.” Brad eyes the brownies, but decides to steer away from them. No way of telling what Christenson put in them, after all. 

“Sleeping until 8am hardly constitutes ‘snoozing the day away’, Brad.” Nate replies, carefully constructing a pasta salad tower on his plate. Brad can’t help but noticing that he his serving contains a suspicious amount of pickles, and files the information away for later. 

“I guess I could be convinced to stay in bed longer under certain circumstances.” Brad acknowledges, reaching past Nate for a beer, accidentally-not-accidentally brushing Nate’s stomach.

“Oh? And what circumstances are those?” Nate asks unabashed.

They’re standing too close to each other, Brad realizes with a start. Over the course of their conversation, they have somehow started to lean towards each other until their bodies are almost touching. He forces himself not to move away, because Nate does neither. 

“Yo, Qtip just threw up!” Ray exclaims loudly from across the garden. 

Nate and Brad look at each other. Nate’s shaking his head and smiles. “We’ll continue this conversation, Colbert.” he says as he starts to walk away, towards where Ray stands. 

“Counting on it, Fick.” Colbert says, taking a sip of his beer and watching Nate walk away.

__________

From across the garden, Brad’s watching Nate talk to Qtip and Christenson. Christenson is saying something that makes Nate laugh so hard he’s throwing his head back, and something in Brad shifts. 

Without giving himself a chance to think about it, he walks up to the corner of the garden where Nate is standing. Nate must have seen him moving, because he waves his empty bottle at Qtip and Christenson and starts walking towards Brad. They meet in the middle of the garden, and Nate cocks his head and looks at Brad expectedly. 

Brad swallows and asks: “Want to get out of here?”

He says it casually, as if this wasn’t him serving his heart on a platter, but Nate must have understood, because he smiles, and nods.  
____

“If you’re looking at raiding my wardrobe, it’s in my bedroom. Second door to the left.” Brad turns around and takes the beer Nate’s holding out to him. His smile sends a warm feeling to Nate’s stomach. 

Instead of replying, Brad slowly walks towards Nate’s living room. Nate follows him, until Brad turns around and leans back against the backrest of Nate’s sofa. He looks at Nate, and Nate forces himself to stand still under his gaze and let himself be seen. Brad smiles, slowly, and tilts his head. 

Nate slowly walks up to him, picking at the label of his beer bottle as he comes to a stop standing before Brad. He’s nervous, he realizes. All the time it took them to get here, and now Nate is uncertain what to do. All their banter brought them here, but this - standing in Nate’s living room, trying to figure out where to go from here - is too quiet for their usual language. 

“Hey.” Brad’s voice, albeit quiet, shakes another wave of nerves through Nate’s body. Nate takes a deep breath to get his nerves under control. Brad must have seen something on Nate’s face, something to tell him how lost Nate feels in this moment, because he shakes his head. 

“Relax. It’s just me.” Brad says with all the confidence Nate is lacking. He reaches out to Nate, and Nate takes a step, slowly getting closer to Brad until they are standing chest to chest. 

Brad’s arm comes to a rest at Nate’s back, and Nate realizes he likes this, likes being held by Brad. Brad watches him, carefully, and Nate thinks that if Brad can be this brave, he can as well. 

“You do understand that’s precisely the point.” Nate says. “It’s you.” And he leans in to close the last remaining distance between them, pressing his mouth firmly to Brad’s. 

Brad’s arm on Nate’s back moves, one broad hand moving up between Nate’s shoulder blades pulling Nate in just as Brad’s lips meet Nate’s. 

After a minute, Brad pulls back, pressing his forehead to Nate’s. 

Nate thought he knew all about Brad’s smiles, but the one on Brad’s face right now might be his favourite. It’s small, and Nate realizes that it’s not even directed at him. This is just Brad being happy. 

It’s a smile that makes Nate want to kiss Brad, and he suddenly realizes that he can. So he leans back up and nips at the smile. Brad reacts immediately, kissing back with a ferocity that tells Nate a lot about how much Brad wants his too. 

Eventually, they break up to gasp for air. 

“So.” Brad says.

“So.” Nate repeats, and Brad gives him a gentle shove, which Nate supposes is fair treatment for him being so obtuse. 

“This is already far better than what I was hoping to get out of Poke’s BBQ.” Brad says, looking at Nate. “We could leave it at that.” 

“We could.” Nate agrees, before leaning back into Brad, his mouth so close to Brad’s that their lips are almost touching. “But we don’t have to.”

They stay like this for a few heart beats, the moment suspended in silence. Then something shifts, and all of the urgency they pushed aside earlier in favor of clarity comes back rushing in. 

Nate wraps his arm around Brad’s neck, his other one at Brad’s hip, pulling him closer. He pulls his head back and licks down the length of Brad’s jawline. Brad gasps, and the sound is so unlike him it makes Nate giddy. 

It gives Nate a sudden rush of confidence - he can wring these sounds out of Brad. Brad, who is unfazed by catastrophes. Brad, who becomes calmer as the more chaos surrounds him. That’s the Brad who is currently chasing after Nate’s mouth, making tiny noises in his throat. 

Brad’s stubble rasps at Nate’s mouth, but he wouldn’t stop doing this for anything in the world. This, Nate thinks absentmindedly as he makes his way down Brad’s throat, must be the best feeling in the world. 

He bites down gently on Brad’s clavicle, and Brad makes a sound as if he’s being punched. 

Suddenly, Brad tenses up, and Nate is ready to move away from Brad, but before he can do any of that, he is lifted. Brad turns them, until Nate’s back hits the couch, and Brad makes a satisfied noise. He pushes Nate against the couch, and Nate has to lean against Brad to not topple over. 

Before he can balance himself fully, Brad slips a hand under Nate’s shirt. His fingers trace distracting lines up and down Nate’s side with one hand, the other one still grasping Nate’s neck. Brad sucks Nate’s bottom lip into his mouth, scraping his teeth along it gently, making Nate shudder. 

“Your fucking mouth.” Brad says. “Do you have any idea how distracting that fucking mouth of yours is.”

Before Nate can answer, Brad dives back in, but Nate draws back, looking Brad square in the eye. 

“Can’t be half as distracting as your ass.” Nate replies, squeezing his hand on Brad’s back to underscore his point. 

Brad chuckles. “Speaking of. I’ve been wanting to get you out of these damn chinos forever.” With that, he tugs at Nate’s pants, and Nate kisses him in reply, deep and hungry. 

“Second door to the left, you said?” Brad murmurs against Nate’s neck, and all Nate can do is nod. 

_________

Brad wakes before Nate, with a start, his body coming to consciousness so quickly that it wakes Nate, too. 

Nate looks at Brad, bleary-eyed, hair mussed, and Brad can feel himself smile down at Nate. They look at each other for a moment, before Nate closes his eyes again, shifting closer to Brad. 

Brad still looks at him, because he can, because he gets to. There’s a quiet voice in his head telling him to enjoy this, because it might not last. 

Nate huffs, opens one eye, and pats at Brad. “Go back to sleep.” He mumbles, voice deep with sleep. “Doctor’s orders.” He puts his head on Brad’s chest, smiling. 

Brad can feel Nate’s breath evening out, the tiny exhales on his skin. He falls asleep, drawn under by the comforting weight of Nate against his body. 

__________

The next time Nate wakes up, he’s alone in bed. The dread does not have time to settle in his brain when he hears someone clanking around in his kitchen. He gets up, picking up a pair of sweatpants and walks towards the noise. 

When he gets to the kitchen, the sight of Brad going through his cupboards greets him. Nate leans against the kitchen door, crossing his arms, waiting for an explanation.

Brad emerges from the depth of one cupboard and looks accusingly at Nate. “How can a person with three degrees have such shitty taste in coffee?” He dives back into the cupboard. Nate decides not to tell him that the only thing Brad will find there are beans, couscous and rice. 

Instead, Nate’s rubbing his neck, trying to make sense of this inane statement. “You’re drawing a false equivalence between higher education and culinary taste, I think.” He yawns. The oven clock tells him it’s just after seven am. 

Forcefully, Brad closes the cabinet doors and looks back at Nate. “I’m currently re-evaluating everything I thought I knew about you.”

“Brad. It’s instant coffee.” Nate replies. 

“It’s a crime, that’s what this is.” Brad shakes his head, clearly unsatisfied. He looks at Nate and points at him, having made a decision. 

“You. Wait here. I’ll get us some coffee.” 

“Are you serious?” Nate says, watching Brad get dressed. Brad, Nate notices, took Nate’s shirt. Not that Nate’s complaining. 

“Indeed I am. I’m not having The Talk over shitty coffee.” The look of Brad in Nate’s shirt - too short around his belly, exposing a strip of skin, and too tight in his shoulders - distracts Nate from the words Brad said. 

“Wait. What.” Nate follows Brad down his hallway. Brad opens the door, and turns around to look at Nate. 

“I will have to talk about my feelings, and especially my feelings for you, and I will not do this over shitty coffee.” He looks at Nate, his gaze softening before he continues. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“So you’re not freaking out?” Nate asks, hating how small his voice sounds. “Because I gotta tell you, fleeing my apartment the morning after we had what I considered to be pretty amazing sex, is not a good sign.” 

Brad shakes his head softly, and reaches out a hand to caress Nate’s cheek. “C’me here.” He says, quietly, and Nate steps close. Brad dips his head and kisses Nate, easy and soft. “I’m not walking out on you.” Another kiss. “I just need better coffee so that I am able to tell you that I’ve been in love with you for a long while now.” He smiles, and steps away. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t worry, and don’t get dressed.” 

______

Nate does not get dressed, but he does have a quick shower. When he steps out of his shower, he is greeted by Brad, sitting on his closed toilet seat, sipping a coffee, holding out another cup to him. 

Nate wordlessy points at the towel hanging next to Brad instead. Brad shakes his head, but acquiesces, shamelessly checking out Nate whilst handing over the towel. 

Once dried, Nate lifts his eyebrow. “You’re ready now?” 

Brad takes a demonstrative last sip of his coffee, looks at Nate and nods, but makes no sign to start. Nate sighs, running his fingers through his hair. He’s not quite sure how to start this conversation, but he knows what he wants to get out of it, so at least there’s that. 

“How long can you stay?” Nate asks, picking up his coffee cup, avoiding Brad’s eyes. His stomach feels tight, tighter than it has felt in a while. He thinks they are on the same page about this, but the only way to make sure is to ask and risk it all falling apart. 

“I never planned on leaving.” Brad says, and his eyes meet Nate’s evenly. 

Nate shakes his head slightly. “You know we both work crazy hours?” Brad shrugs his shoulders, and Nate continues. “When I’m home, I’m half-dead. I sleep most of the time that I’m not at work. I get sick constantly from all the bugs at work.”

Brad interrupts him. “The same’s true for me, though.” 

“That’s what I mean!” Nate exclaims, stepping closer until he’s standing between Brad’s legs. Brad’s looking up at him, questioningly, and Nate slowly continues. “I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself in here, Brad.”

Brad smiles, and it’s a radiant thing. “I’ve never been this sure about anything else.” Nate wants to interrupt him, but Brad continues, tugging at the towel around Nate’s waist. “Seriously. I want you, preferably forever. Okay?” He looks at Nate. 

Nate looks down at him. The trust he sees in Brad’s face almost takes his breath away. “Okay.” Nate can hear himself replying, the quiet words echoing in his bathroom. 

Slowly, Brad’s smile transforms into something more feral. One determined pull at Nate’s towel, and it’s gone. Brad starts kissing Nate’s belly, but a hand on his head stops him. 

Nate tilts Brad’s face until he looks at him. “I can’t believe you ran out to get coffee, but let me have The Talk while I was only clad in a towel.”

“I know how to create strategic advantages and I don’t hesitate to exploit them, Nate.” Brad says, trying to get back to kissing Nate. 

“I’ll remember this next time I’m dealing with Encino Man.” 

Abruptly, the kissing stops. Brad looks up at Nate, sour look on his face. “Okay. Rule number one. No mentioning of Encino Man while I’m trying to seduce you.” He pauses. “Rule number two. You need to get a new coffee machine.” 

“I’m sure I can accommodate those requests,” Nate replies, laughing. 

“Great.” Brad says, pushing Nate back so that he can stand up. He starts walking towards Nate’s bedroom. “I think there’s a couple of Chino trousers in here that I have yet to destroy.”


End file.
